


Pressure Points

by puddlejumper99



Series: Out of the Ashes [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Cupcakes, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, High School AU, M/M, Past Abuse, like a weird amount of cupcakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2018-09-29 23:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10147346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99/pseuds/puddlejumper99
Summary: Neil enrolls at Columbia High School and remarkably fails at remaining invisible





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had to fuck with the timeline a bit to make it work in my mind? But most of the canon backstory is intact. Just shuffled about a little
> 
> Hope you like it! I've never written much fanfic before these dumb exy boys completely consumed my life but i cant get them out of my head so here we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil and Andrew meet for the first time
> 
> warnings for homophobic language, panic, violent flashbacks.

Neil walked an extra lap around the field while his teammates disappeared into the school. After over a month, the cross-country team knew that he always stayed late after practice. He didn’t like standing out, even just this much, but showering with the team was out of the question. His feet slapped against the hard dirt where shoes had worn the grass away. The wind was hot rather than soothing, and his throat was dry and gummy from running.

When he could no longer stand it, he traced their steps back to the school. Coach Dresden had pulled him aside today to talk about state championships, about qualifying times and summer training and the possibilities for scholarships next year when he was a senior. Neil had nodded and smiled and resolved to stand out less in practice. The future Coach Dresden described belonged to a false ID and a name out of a phone book. Neil would never hang onto it for long.

His thoughts followed him into the changeroom. It was anarchy, as usual, sweaty teenagers thrusting smelly shoes and gloves at their friends and shouting about grass stains and bruises and body checks. The Exy team tended to end up in the changerooms with the cross-country team, which was just one more injustice Neil had to bear. Colombia High School’s team had made it halfway to state championships last year. No matter how he ached to play, to pick up a racquet again, there was no way a team of that calibre would take on a rookie like him. He liked running well enough, but Exy had a charisma that lured him back every time.

He checked the showers to see if they were clear yet. The showers were what had lured him to the sports teams in the first place; the abandoned industrial park where he was squatting didn’t have running water. When he saw that they were empty he retreated to the furthest corner and showered and dressed in two minutes flat. His clothes clung to his damp skin as he returned to the changeroom.

“Hey Neil!” Sam waved him over exuberantly, like they hadn’t just been at practice together for over an hour. Sam was a freshman, two years Neil’s junior, but he tended to forget that. Probably because he had over half a foot on Neil.

“Hey,” Neil replied, tucking himself against a wall where he was less likely to get hit by a flying water bottle or sweaty towel.

“Some of the team is going out for pizza tonight, wanna join?”

“Uh,” Neil said, quickly weighing his options, “Sure why not?”

“Sweet! Liz and Marco are coming too, and a couple others I think,”

“Cool,” Neil said, though he was internally groaning. An evening making small talk with a bunch of freshmen was sure to be exhausting. But it couldn’t really be much worse than sitting in a cold building alone for hours, and he’d been living off of peanut butter sandwiches for too long.

Raised voices diverted his attention. Sam grimaced and started packing his bag faster, eager to be out of the warzone. Neil sought out the source of the disturbance and winced. There was another reason he hadn’t tried out for the Exy team, and it wasn’t his mother’s advice. He didn’t know much about the Exy team’s senior goalkeeper, but every time he spoke it set off warning flares in his mind.

Dylan Reaman didn’t share Neil’s instincts.

“Do you just get off on watching the rest of us practice while you just fucking stand around?” He snarled.

“Cool it, Dylan,” Callum warned. He was Captain of the Exy team, and well accustomed to putting out fires. But it was common knowledge that you didn’t interfere with Andrew Minyard.

“You know what fuck the hell off. You and Coach always let him get away with everything, just cuz he’s got some dumb sob story about his mother.”

Andrew leaned against the locker. He was nearly a foot shorter than Dylan, but there was something dark and dead in his eyes that said he wasn't even halfway intimidated. He only looked bored by his tirade. “Maybe I’d try if I actually thought you could score on me,”

“The fuck? You think you get to do whatever you want just cuz you’re Coach’s favourite? Fuck that. Fuck you and your faggy cousin. I’m sick of him perv-ing on all our practices.”

“I don’t like that word,” Andrew’s voice was deadly quiet, “Don’t use it.”

“What, fag? You a fag too? A whole family of fags. Do you go home and fuck each other too, or do you pay people for that?”

“Dylan…” One of the guys near him murmured, edging away, “Knock it off,”

“Why? Do you think I should treat him special just cuz he likes it up the ass? Maybe we should send a girl after your gay-ass twin. Maybe if he finally got laid—”

A violent crash shook the lockers as Dylan’s head snapped back from the force of Andrew’s fist. Neil froze, barely breathing. He hadn’t even seen Andrew move. His indifference had melted into a pure, dark rage as he dragged Dylan upright by his shirt and threw him backwards so he slid down the lockers like a broken puppet.

Callum moved to interfere, but as if he could sense it Andrew turned, and Neil felt adrenaline like a lightning strike as he saw Andrew’s hand plunge into his pocket. He moved before he could think about it, shoving Callum aside. Andrew didn’t seem to care that his target had changed. The flash of light on a switchblade sent Neil’s mind reeling, back to Seattle, back to Patrick DiMaccio’s sadist grin and his father’s twisted rage and the _crunch_ of a pipe breaking his mother’s internal organs beyond repair. He threw up his hands, instinct taking over, his mother’s voice screaming in his ears. He caught Andrew’s descending wrist in one hand, pinching the pressure point so his fingers opened with a spasm.

Andrew’s eyes contorted with shock and rage. Neil caught the knife deftly with his other hand, flipping his grip like his mother had taught him. They stood immobile, Neil gripping the knife too hard, memories crowding in and narrowing his vision down to the shine of the blade.

He stepped back slowly, letting go of Andrew’s wrist and trying to disguise how badly his hands were shaking as he closed the switchblade. Andrew’s expression dropped like a stone, smoothing into utter indifference in a split second. Neil blinked. The violence didn't reemerge. It was buried and dead in the space of an instant.

Someone edged past Andrew to check on Dylan, and just as abruptly Neil’s memories retreated as he became aware of dozens of eyes boring into him. His throat tightened convulsively, but he just looked down at the knife in his hand.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to hold a knife ever again.

He held it out to Andrew. If he was surprised, it didn’t show. He studied Neil’s expression for a moment, then took the knife out of his hand and tucked it back in his pocket.

Voices clamoured for his attention, but he was numb to them. He walked back to where he’d dropped his duffel and picked it up mechanically. His hands were trembling with adrenaline and remembered fear.

“Neil,” Sam said, his concerned face popping up in front of him, “Neil that was—”

Neil swung his duffel over his shoulder and pushed past Sam blindly. No one got in his way as he stumbled out of the changeroom and almost fell into the light of day. He needed a cigarette, needed his mother’s guidance more than ever. Her absence loomed over his shoulder like a shadow despite the hot day.

“Neil!”

Sam materialized beside him, looking concerned. Neil reached for his words, trying to think of a plausible explanation for his actions. “Neil, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,”

“That was—I mean that was so badass, the way you just— _dived_ right in front of Callum,”

“Sam, I think,” He stopped, struggling to order his thoughts, “I just need to go home, alright? Some other time,”

“Hey it’s okay, we’re still going for pizza if you want to come,”

“Sorry,” Neil said, and walked away, ignoring Sam’s protests.

“Don’t you want to tell Coach what happened?”

“ _No._ ” Neil gripped the handle of his duffel as if it could anchor him to the earth. If Sam said anything else, he didn’t hear it.

His mind was full of knives and dark smiles. Sweat rolled down his neck in thick beads. He could feel his mother’s hands tearing his hair, her screaming voice. He could smell gasoline.

 _I can’t do this without you mom,_ he thought, _I’m not going to make it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent like half the time writing this chapter trying to figure out American high schools rip
> 
> thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil and andrew have a little chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i updated! i have no idea how often ill be able to update, but im so grateful to all of your nice comments! sorry if i havent responded yet...i kinda posted chapter one while tipsy and woke up in the morning and saw all your comments and basically *screams eternally*
> 
> anyway have some angsty neil
> 
> warnings for neil's usual angst, some bloody thoughts, knives

“Could Neil Josten please come down to the office, Neil Josten to the office,” the PA announced barely half an hour into first period.

“Someone’s in trouuuuble,” A girl sang teasingly.

Neil swept his things into his bag and kept his head down while the teacher tried to quiet his gossiping classmates. He could feel their eyes on him like the heat of a magnifying glass. News travelled fast.

He felt conspicuous and awkward in the empty halls. The few seniors studying or playing cards looked up at him curiously. _They don’t know who you are,_ he told himself sternly. Most people in the school wouldn’t know who Neil Josten was to look at, even if you told them he’d picked a fight with Andrew Minyard.

He reached the office and walked up to the desk, trying to paste a pleasant expression on his face. The receptionist smiled. “Neil?” She asked, paperclipping a set of pages together without looking down.

“That’s me,”

“Just through that door there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. Neil took a deep breath and squared his shoulders like he was marching onto a battlefield. This was why he was here today. If he’d gone missing the day after he’d got in a fight at school, there would be questions. Calls home to a number that would never pick up. Police might get involved. He would smooth things over today, feed some lies to administrations, and then… _then_ he would run.

Coach Dresden leaped to his feet the moment the door opened.

“Neil! Are you alright?”

“Yes, Coach,” Neil replied, sweeping his eyes over the small office, a sickening feeling of relief dropping in his stomach when Andrew wasn’t there. The Exy team’s coach and the principal sat at the desk behind Dresden.

“Hi, Neil,” the principal said, leaning over her desk to offer Neil her hand. She was a towering woman with a wide face and tightly curling black hair pulled into a ponytail. “I’m Mrs. Hurley, this is Coach Brent. Have a seat,”

Neil sat gingerly in a spinning office chair. Coach Dresden sat next to him, facing the other two across a worn-out desk. He could see marks where hands had rubbed away the fake wood panelling and the underlying plywood peeked through, polished by constant use. Neil stared at the page in front of Mrs. Hurley and tried to read the words upside down. He picked out Andrew’s name almost instantly.

“I’m sure you’re aware of why you’re here,” Mrs. Hurley began. Neil nodded at the desk. When it became apparent he wouldn’t speak, she continued, “A few of your teammates reported a fight in the changerooms last night. We’ve heard their version of events, and Andrew’s, but we wanted to hear yours,”

“Okay.” Neil pulled one hand into his sleeve so he could discreetly wipe his sweaty palm. Dresden’s eyes were wrinkled with concern. Neil didn’t look at him, preferring Mrs. Hurley’s calm gaze.

“Dylan picked a fight with Andrew, and I stopped it,”

“That’s all?” Coach Brent leaned forward. Neil stared at his buzz cut and over the top of his head, wondering how invested he was in trying to hold onto his best goalie. From the wet sheen on his skin, he imagined that it had already been an unpleasant morning for him.

Neil shrugged away the question. “That’s what happened,”

“Sam said he pulled a knife on you,” Dresden interjected.

There was no point in lying, when they’d already heard it from more reliable sources, but he didn’t need this to blow up into something uglier. “I guess,”

“You only guess?” Mrs. Hurley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He wasn’t really going for me,”

“You don’t have anything else to add?” Coach Brent cut in, “Anything that happened before the fight that might have made Andrew more volatile?”

Mrs. Hurley shot Brent a withering look. He was definitely trying to find a loophole to make Andrew’s actions seem acceptable, and Mrs. Hurley was having none of it, “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it with all of us here, Neil. We could set up a meeting with one of the school counselors if that would be more comfortable for you.”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, shifting to look up at her properly, “I talked with my mom last night. She thinks it might be better if I transferred,”

This time, Mrs. Hurley had to cut Coach Dresden off with a glare. “If that’s what you think is best, know that we’ll support you through the switch. But if you’d rather stay, we do have support systems in place if you’re feeling unsafe. We’d rather not let one incident drive you away completely. Is your mother available to come in for a conference to discuss options?”

“She’s out of town for a couple weeks, but she doesn’t like the idea of anything happening when she’s not around.”

Dresden couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Let’s not get too drastic,” he said hurriedly, “It was Andrew who started the fight, if anyone should be thinking of leaving—”

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Hurley said mildly, “Would you mind letting Neil and I speak in private?”

Dresden choked down his words. Brent looked like he’d swallowed sour milk. Once the door closed behind them, Mrs. Hurley shook her head disapprovingly. “They are excellent coaches, but they can be a little single-minded,” she said, readjusting a ruffled stack of paper, “Neil, I’ll be honest, we’d rather not be the kind of school that has students transferring due to violence. But all I want is what’s in your best interest. Dylan Reaman is recovering at home for a few days, but he has no serious injuries, probably in part thanks to you. As for Andrew…”

She paused for a second, clearly considering how much she could tell Neil. “There are certain…extenuating circumstances that make us give Andrew a bit of extra leeway. That being said, he's been suspended for the next three days, and with his record another incident would be grounds for expulsion. He understands this and we hope that means we won’t have any more problems, but I can’t make promises for his behaviour. If you’re uncomfortable with that, you and your family have to make the right decision for you.”

“Thanks,” Neil mumbled, but his mind wasn’t on her gentle reassurances. Andrew’s suspension was long enough to tide him over to the weekend. If he stayed till Friday, he’d have three more days to plan his getaway, and two full days to disappear before anyone questioned it.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please just let me know.”

“Okay,” Neil said, “Was there anything else you needed?”

Mrs. Hurley studied him for a minute, lips pursed. “I think that’s all,”

“Thanks,” Neil said again, picking up his bag and standing up. He started to leave, then turned back as if he’d just thought of something, “Uh, do you think its possible to email my mom the transfer papers? Just in case,”

“Sure, Neil. Do you have her email address?”

Neil rattled it off from memory. He could access the account from the computers at the city library and forge his mother’s signature. He'd never actually pass his transcripts on to his new school, but it would pacify this one. He left the office, feeling somewhere between satisfied and disappointed. Conning Mrs. Hurley was necessary to secure a silent exit. Yet…

He swallowed that thought and headed back to class. Running away was a part of his life, and there was no point wishing otherwise.

\--

Sam cornered him after his chemistry class and dragged him to the cafeteria. The smell of fries coated the air in a greasy miasma. It wasn’t Neil’s imagination that people glanced towards them more often than was natural. “You totally missed out last night, dude, Marco got us some coolers and we all got totally buzzed, it was a blast, we did a bunch of toasts to your mad ninja skills too. You should’ve been there,”

If possible, Neil shrivelled even smaller in his oversize sweatshirt. “I don’t have any mad ninja skills,” he mumbled, but Sam didn’t hear him, too busy waving frantically at a pair of freshmen near the windows. Neil glanced around, searching for an escape route, but Sam herded him over to the table. He slouched over his tray of cafeteria slop and sat awkwardly at the very edge of the table.

The others weren’t going to let him eat in peace though. Immediately, a girl slid down the bench so she could lean in right in front of him. “So, spill,”

“Spill what,” Neil said blandly.

“Oh, come on,” she said, pushing her purple hair back over her partly shaved head, “Everyone’s talking about what happened last night,”

“It’s not a big deal,”

“Like hell it wasn’t,” Sam said, “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

The girl—Liz? —groaned dramatically, “Ugh, the most exciting thing that ever happens in the girl’s room is someone getting hairspray in their eyes. A real fight!”

The eager look on her face made Neil cringe. He couldn’t tell if she was bloodthirsty or just naïve. “What’s it like to hit somebody?” She asked, leaning even further over her food so she was right in Neil’s face.

“I didn’t hit anybody,”

“Fiiiiiine, I got the whole story from Sam anyway,” She sat up, tossing her hair again.

Neil picked at his food and lied, “Mom’s thinking of getting me to switch schools,”

“What?” Sam looked outraged, “But you’ve hardly been here for a month!”

“She can be kinda protective.” Neil shrugged.

“Trust me, no ones gonna fuck with you now. You’ve got balls of fucking steel if you went up against Andrew,” Liz said appreciatively.

“I got lucky,”

“Pshaw,” Liz dismissed, “There is no 'luck' involved when dealing with that freak,”

Neil wanted to melt through the floor, but just in time Marco’s soft voice interjected, “Hey, you okay?”

Neil jerked his head up to look over at him. Marco’s soft brown hair slid over his glasses, but it couldn’t quite hide the keen tilt of his gaze. “I’m fine,” Neil said automatically, fixing his eyes solidly on his lunch, “I just don’t really like fighting,”

“But you’re like—” Marco shot Sam a dirty look. “That’s—oh. Shit. Sorry,”

The conversation drifted into safer waters after that, kept there by Marco’s gentle hand. Neil was grateful for Marco’s interference, but his mind spun in hopeless circles. If he was so bad that a fourteen-year-old could notice it, he really was slipping. He breathed deeply and focussed on his cheap cafeteria meal. For the next three days Neil Josten was still a normal student at Columbia High. He let the conversation wash over him, letting his thoughts settle on class and the English assignment due next block. Three days was plenty of time.

\----

Neil leaned against the wall. Cross country practice had been a nightmare, but a manageable one. Everyone wanted to hear his version of the fight, even those who’d witnessed it. For now, though, all that was left was a few chemistry questions. He could pick up dinner on the way home, hang out at the city library for a few hours, and then—

Something smashed into his side and he gasped, doubling over convulsively as his stomach seized. Before he could hit the ground, fingers dug cruelly into his hair and hauled him halfway upright. He couldn’t resist, could barely breathe. The punch had struck him directly in the kidney and the pain consumed him like a flame. His back ground into the rough brick of the wall, a small nob digging into his lower spine.

The cool feeling of a blade against his throat managed to draw him out of his pain. “No,” he gasped helplessly.

“For someone who likes to paint a target on his back,” A voice hissed in his ear, “You are remarkably blind,”

He recognized the voice a second later. He relaxed without thinking about it, letting his hands drop loosely to his sides. It wasn’t his father. He wasn’t caught yet. He twisted his neck as far as he dared so that he could look up at Andrew’s face. His pale blonde hair looked almost translucent, backlit by the burning sun.

 “I’m not looking for trouble,” Neil rasped, feeling his Adam’s apple scrape up against the blade. Andrew might not be his father, but he could still end him. Neil didn’t think he would—not somewhere this public, anyway—but he wasn’t going to gamble on it.  

“I don’t care. You got involved in my business. I can’t have people thinking they can do that without consequences, now can I?”

Neil pushed his palms against the wall, trying to resist the urge to grab onto Andrew for support. He legs ached from the awkward position Andrew had him pinned in. “It won’t happen again,”

Andrew’s gaze was sharp as he studied Neil’s face. For a long moment, nothing happened, then Andrew abruptly released him, and he nearly fell to the ground in surprise.

“I will let you off with a warning this time,” Andrew said, “Next time I won’t be so lenient.”

Neil pushed his way upright slowly, buying himself a few seconds to think. Fortunately, Andrew didn’t seem to need anything else from him. He’d delivered his warning. Now it was up to Neil to heed it.

The click of a lighter made Neil flinch as he retrieved his duffel. When he looked up Andrew was watching him with a bored expression, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers. “Where does a guy like you learn to fight, anyway,” Andrew asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Andrew gave him a look that said he knew exactly what it meant. Neil held his gaze stubbornly. There was no way Andrew knew anything about him. All he had was suspicions, and Neil wasn’t going to confirm any of them. “Where did you learn to use knives?” He shot back.

“Juvie.”

 The plain confession startled Neil into silence. He shook his head after a second and said, “My mom made me take self-defence classes before we moved to the city. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” 

“It’s the truth,” Neil insisted.

“No,” Andrew turned and looked him directly in the eye like he could see through him, “You don’t learn those kinds of reflexes in a class. You learn them in a fight. But you never fight anyone. You walk around like a ghost, trying to force people to ignore you, but you took the knife out of my hand. No-one’s ever done that,”

He was right, of course. It didn’t matter how many names he’d put between himself and Nathaniel Wesninski, he couldn’t erase his childhood lessons, a blade thrust into his too-small hand as Lola gleefully taught him how to carve up a dead raccoon. He could still remember the smell of guts spilling out of the tiny corpse, Lola’s derisive blows when he staggered away to vomit on the floor. Smoke blew into his face and he couldn't quite bury a flinch.

“You hold it wrong,” Neil said, trying to focus on Andrew and not the smell of the cigarette, “My instructor showed me the basics. You’d slice your hand to pieces if you actually used it that way.”

“If you know so much, why don’t you show me,” Andrew challenged, a cruel spark in his eyes. Neil’s stomach bottomed out a second before he realized it was only a taunt.  Whatever monsters had been in Neil’s eyes yesterday when he held the knife, Andrew had seen them.

“I hate knives,” Neil said flatly.

Andrew didn’t stop him when he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coach Dresden: YOUR athlete tried to stab my star runner  
> Coach Brent: well YOUR athlete picked a fight with my best goalie  
> *goes back and forth for eternity*
> 
> a girl at my high school got a three day suspension for pulling a knife on some guy, but that was a hippy dippy canadian school so i dunno how it would work for someone like andrew (and that makes my school sound like its so edgy but it was like a swiss army knife and it was more drama than any actual threat of violence O.o )
> 
> i've always had this head canon that renee taught andrew how to use knives properly, when they started sparring, so that's what this is based on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter! 
> 
> warnings for weapons and panic attacks cuz neil is a goddamn mess right now

_Nathaniel._

Neil jerked awake, grabbing for a weapon and dislodging a piece of insulation. He could hear his father’s voice boom across the room. _Nathaniel._ His hands closed on the grip of his mom’s handgun and he spun to face the room, flicking off the safety—

The empty room echoed loudly with the sounds of his ragged breathing. Neil sagged against the wall, holding the gun in two shaking hands. It had seemed so real. He pressed his forehead against his clenched hands, forcing himself to breathe evenly. The wide room was faint and grey in the moonlight.

It was several minutes before he could pry his fingers off the gun, the diamond pattern of the grip imprinted into his sticky palms. He clicked the safety on and rubbed his hands over his forehead. He was still sitting on his nest of insulation, sweaty and sick from the nightmare. He checked his watch. It was almost 3:00am on Friday morning.

Cool air dried the sweat on his forehead into gritty salt. He shivered involuntarily and dug a hoody out of his duffel. His blanket was tangled around his feet and he pried it off. There was no way he could go back to sleep. He could feel the nightmare lurking around his subconscious, ready to pounce the moment he dropped his head.

He pushed himself to his feet and looked back at his room. His pile of torn insulation was shoved into the wall where it couldn’t be seen from outside. The far window could be pried open as an escape, in a pinch. One door led up towards the second floor. He headed out the other one, picking his way over broken drywall and through back hallways until he reached the steel door at the rear of the building. It was even colder outside, and he hugged his arms against his ribs as he squeezed out of the old fencing that surrounded his hideout. He didn’t know what the building was supposed to be, but clearly the project had been abandoned, probably permanently. It wasn’t a great place to live, but it wasn’t a bad one either. He would miss it when he left.

He broke into a jog to get some heat into his muscles. The dark streets beat with the sound of his feet slapping the ground. His fingertips tingled as his blood woke and began to rush into his extremities. Each breath came hard and cold as a knife, but it was a clean pain. His thoughts fell behind on the pavement as he ran down the centre of the street, heedless of who might be watching. It was hours before he returned to his quiet home, and sleep didn’t follow.

\--

His last day at Columbia High went by too fast. Classes leapt forward in fits and jolts as he struggled to keep his head from drooping onto his desk. When lunch finally arrived he slouched out of class and almost gave himself whiplash when he spotted Sam down the hall. He lunged around the corner and headed for the library, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed him. He couldn’t stand another awkward lunch with the freshmen.

He felt a twinge of relief when he entered the library and spotted a familiar face. The beads in Bethany’s hair clinked as she looked up and waved at him. Her papers were spread all the way across the table, but she pushed some aside, an invitation. Neil slumped in the chair across from her and managed, “Hey,”

“Hi Neil,” she said, smiling crookedly, “Hiding from your fan club?”

Neil rolled his eyes, which made her laugh. “Rookie mistake. First rule of high school: big kids don’t talk to the little ones.” Her eyes twinkled, “Though I guess you’re destined to always be a little one,”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Neil said dryly.

“Oh!” Bethany said, bending over her backpack, “I made you cupcakes,”

“What?”

Bethany sat back up, placing a Tupperware container in front of him. “I was going to give them to you in class. I know you don’t really like sweets, so they’re carrot cake,”

Neil stared at the plastic container like it might suddenly go off. Six cupcakes were squashed in together, the white icing smudged and melting against the plastic walls. He jerked his head back up to look at Bethany, but she was leaning over her notes, either oblivious to his silence or tactfully ignoring it.

It took him a long second to speak, and when he did the single word cracked a little. “Why?”

She paused, looking up at him. Her expression was twisted into something complicated, something that Neil couldn’t begin to decipher. Then she shook her head and turned back to her work. “I heard you had a rough week. Thought you’d like something nice,”

Neil couldn’t think of what to say to that. After a moment, he slowly reached for the cupcakes and popped the container open. He hid it on a chair so that the librarians wouldn’t spot it and picked at one with his fingers. The icing wasn’t as sweet as he expected. He tried to remember just when Bethany had figured out he didn’t like sweets, but came up blank. They only shared one class, and that was English.

“Thanks,” he said belatedly, tearing off another bite, “Want some?”

She snorted, and just like that the heavy air lifted, “I’ve got some proper cupcakes in my bag. I had to make that icing special for Mr. Athlete,”

“They’re good,” he protested.

“Healthy cupcakes are an oxymoron. Mom and I went totally overboard, we must’ve made like a hundred for the game tonight. I ate so much batter yesterday I almost puked.”

“You’re going to the Exy game tonight?” He asked, startled. Bethany wasn’t much for sports. She believed running was “torture with a good marketing campaign” and wouldn’t believe a word Neil said in it’s defense.

“Oh yeah, we always go, a bunch of mom’s Legion friends have kids on the team. You should stop by. But bring your own cupcakes, we don’t have any more of your low-cal BS.”

Neil looked at the desk in front him and twisted his fingers together so he wouldn’t pick at his nails. “I’ve got cross-country after school.”

“Sucks to be you,” she said affably.

Neil reached for his duffel and pulled out his English text. The essay Bethany was working on wasn’t due till Monday, so Neil wouldn’t be around to hand it in, but he sifted through his notes anyway.

Could it really hurt? Andrew probably wouldn’t be at the game, since his suspension excluded him from any school activities. He’d been planning to catch a bus out immediately after school, but it wouldn’t really make a difference if he left today or tomorrow. He hadn’t watched an Exy game in years, too cowed by his mother’s blistering glare to even switch on the sports channel.

“Practice should be over by 4:30,” he said, “I could come over after that,”

Bethany grinned at him and offered her notes. They spent the rest of lunch leaned over their essays, comfortably silent except to compare their writing.

\--

Neil went directly from cross-country to the Exy game without showering. He could hear the crowd from across the football field and his felt a strange thrill of fear. His mother had barely been gone three months, and he was going to betray her like this?

His feet didn’t slow, though. As he rounded the side of the bleachers he heard the unmistakeable _thud_ of a ball slamming into plexiglass and the pounding of feet on rattling steps. He gripped the side of the nearest stair and gazed out at the field in wonder. They had a proper Exy court, completely encased and smudged all up the walls from the impact of shots and bodies. Columbia’s team was decked out in the green and brown of the Beavers, while Trinity’s purple and gold Royals and their fans brightened an entire section of the stands.

The giant red numbers on the scoreboard read Home 2, Away 4. Below, the Beaver’s were frantically fighting for their space on the court. A striker, number 18, was being harried by a massive backliner. She ducked to the side and tossed the ball upwards, out of his reach, so it rebounded off the wall back to her. Her slight figure slipped through the backliner’s outstretched arms to catch it and fling it to the other striker.

He caught the ball and ran, but was swiftly tackled by the defense. The two green strikers fumbled the ball back and forth twice before the opposing dealer intercepted and the Royal’s advanced into Beaver territory.

Neil swayed and realized he hadn’t breathed since he approached the court. He sucked in a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the game to scan for Bethany. She wasn’t too hard to spot. She was set up behind a table laden with confectionary, down by the home goal.

He made his way down the side of the court, trying to catch every play out of the corner of his eye. Floor level and through the back of the goal was hardly the best way to view the game, but that’s where Bethany was and Neil resigned himself to it. Best not to seem too interested anyway, best to keep a low profile—

“Hey Neil,” Bethany said, “How was practice?”

The thunder of the crowd filled his ears, and before he could speak a much louder voice boomed in his ear, “So you’re the Neil I’ve been hearing about!”

He flinched away and saw what could only be Bethany’s mother grinning at him from above. She shared Bethany’s round, friendly face, but her hair was cropped short and tightly curled to her head, and she rattled with bangles that hung off of every limb. Neil had no idea how she’d snuck up on him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said reflexively, “Um, nice to meet you,”

“ _Mom_ ,” Beth protested, “You could at least say hi,”

“Are you sassing me, young lady?”

Beth rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Neil, this is my mom, Josephine. Mom, Neil,”

“Just call me Jo, everyone does,”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Wow,” Josephine said, leaning into Neil’s face and grinning, “I like this one. So polite! How did you end up befriending my little scallywag?”

“ _Scallywag?_ ” Beth said in exasperation, “Of all the—”

“Hmmph,” Josephine interrupted, “Well I won’t get in your way. I’m going to go make the rounds, you two stay out of trouble now,”

Beth muttered something incomprehensible as her mother sashayed away, but she was smiling. Neil dropped into the chair next to her, still warm from Josephine sitting there. “Sorry about her. She can be a bit much,”

It was one way to describe it. For all her teasing, Beth was a quiet person, happier working away silently in the back of class with Neil, than joining the vibrant group discussions at the front. That she’d been raised by someone so bright and loud was almost comedic. “She seems nice,” he said vaguely.

“She’s a powerhouse. If she ever decides she’s tired of baking, she’ll be president, and God help America when a fat black lady ends up in charge.” Her voice was all pride.

“I’d vote for her,” Neil offered.

“Out of fear, maybe,”

Neil shrugged, his lips pulling upwards into an almost-smile. “Maybe,” he agreed.

“Would you mind helping me run this? We’re about to get the half-time rush,”

“No problem,” he said, and it was almost a good thing, an excuse to be here other than for Exy. Even if the view was heavily impeded by the boards.

She showed him the cash box, and pointed out the different items on the table by price. It looked like all of Josephine’s Legion friends had also contributed to the sale. The table was packed end to end with homemade brownies and macaroons and the promised cupcakes, which came in at least a dozen different colours.

The game rumbled on in front of them, and judging by the crowd’s screams, it wasn’t going well for the Beavers. Neil craned his neck to see over the boards and could see two Royal strikers, dangerously close to scoring.

“Come on, Teia!” Bethany said softly, watching the girl in goal as one of the defense fouled up a body-check. The ball smashed into the side wall, only to be snatched out of the air by the second striker. A moment later the wall in front of them lit up and a horn blared for a Royal goal.

Neil’s focus on the game shattered as Andrew deliberately bumped into the table. He froze—impossible, Andrew couldn’t be here—but there he was, staring down at Neil like he was an bug under a microscope.

“Andrew, fuck, slow down!” A voice called from behind Andrew, “Could you at least give a guy some warning before you take off like that?”

Andrew flicked the other man a brief glance, then ignored him. He was dark-skinned and tall, a baby-blue band t-shirt fitted tightly against his skin. The cousin Dylan had taunted Andrew about? They didn’t look related, but Neil couldn’t think of any other reason why someone like him would be hanging around Andrew.

He was vaguely aware of Bethany shifting nervously next to him, but he didn’t dare break eye contact to check on her. He steeled himself and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be suspended?”

“Planning on reporting me?”

Neil clenched his jaw. He wasn’t likely to talk to anyone in authority and entangle himself in this any more than he already was, but he hated Andrew for figuring that out. “Why are you even here if you can’t play?”

“Team spirit,” Andrew said blithely.

“Well that’s a load of bull,” the second man laughed nervously, eyeing Neil, “I’m Nicky, by the way,”

Neil glanced at him, taking in the sweat on his forehead and his obvious discomfort at being out of the loop. A minder, then. “Neil,”

“Oh you’re—you’re that guy. Shit, Andrew lay off, will you? Do you want—”

Whatever Nicky was going to say, Andrew lost interest, plucking a chocolate cupcake off of the table and wandering off in the direction of the school. “Hey Andrew!” Nicky called after him, “You’re supposed to pay for that!”

He rolled his eyes at Neil, though he hardly looked surprised that Andrew didn’t respond. “He’s impossible.” He dug through his pockets and produced a five, handing it to Bethany. “Keep the change,” he said, hurrying off to where Andrew’s blond hair was disappearing past the bleachers. Neil watched them go, feeling uneasy.

“What was that about?” Bethany asked.

“I don’t know,” Neil said, half-truthfully.

Beth looked more than a little rattled, but she pulled herself together quickly. “And my mom thinks I’m the trouble maker. What am I supposed to do with you, honestly?”

Neil couldn’t think of a response to that, but Beth understood, because she just nudged his chair supportively and turned back to the court. Neil tried to lose himself in the game again, but he kept glancing behind him, hair sticking up like someone was watching him. It was just paranoia, he told himself.

A distraction came in the form of half-time. The crowd streamed down from the bleachers and a mob developed around their table. What had seemed like an obscene number of snacks to Neil whittled down to almost nothing in the space of minutes, Bethany unpacking extra trays of brownies while Neil tried to count out change for four people at once. The blare of the horn announced the game restarting, but it was another ten minutes before they had space to breathe. Josephine didn’t resurface, which Bethany lamented at length while they attempted to bring order to the mess of their table.

Neil’s eyes drifted back out to the court. Just past the goal, he could see the tiny figure of Aaron Minyard, facing off against a striker twice his size. His hands slowed their work, then stopped completely.

“Beth,” Neil started, checking that no one else was listening.

“Mm-hmm?”

“Why is everyone so scared of Andrew?”

She paused, tapping her dark-painted nails against the table. She didn’t look at him, but he knew she’d heard.

“Because he gets into a lot of fights,” she said. Neil looked down, trying not to be disappointed. He hadn’t dared ask any of his teammates about Andrew without risking an interrogation, but Beth wasn’t likely to give him much. She was allergic to gossip.

“I think its hard for him, you know,” she said suddenly, “Everyone knowing all of your business. And at the same time there’s a lot of mystery around him. Aaron was here for a whole year before he arrived, and then their mom died in a car accident really soon after he got here. Nicky’s their legal guardian.”

“Nicky?” Neil asked, disbelieving.

“They’re cousins, or something like that. I don’t know, really,”

“Oh,” Neil said. He knew better than to press her for more, when she’d already broken her unspoken rule against talking about people who weren’t there. He stared unseeing at the scoreboard and mulled over what he knew about Andrew. He’d admitted that he’d been to juvie, which would explain why Aaron had been at the school alone. Knowing the shape of Andrew’s family made Dylan’s gibes—and Andrew’s reaction—make a lot more sense, a in a twisted sort of way.

He wondered what it was like, to stand in the spotlight all the time. There were over a thousand students in the school, yet everyone still knew Andrew’s story. It sounded terrifying to Neil, though after seeing the indifference in Andrew’s gaze when he threatened to open Neil’s throat, he doubted it bothered him all that much.

He only half watched the rest of the game, but he stayed until there was ten minutes to go, then left, saying something about using the showers before the Exy players got out. He felt simultaneously lighter and like he was suffocating as he left the court behind. After today, Andrew’s history wouldn’t matter. Tomorrow he’d be in a different town, buying a new name and stringing together bus tickets to get somewhere far away. Maybe he’d go as far as Canada, though a border crossing was always tricky.

In all likelihood that was the last conversation he would ever have with Beth.

He went in through the athletes’ entrance, blinking blindly in the dimness of the hallway. His locker only took a minute to clean out. The textbooks he had to return to the school library, but his classwork he could dump into the bin once he was clear of the school.

The books sat on the bench in the changeroom as he opened his duffel to grab a fresh t-shirt, and his hand was halfway into the bag when he saw it. His clothes were all folded as he’d left them, if a little rumpled from being wedged in a locker. But he was sure he’d folded the tags in half, was sure they’d still be in place when he left his things for cross-country.

Ice shot down Neil’s spine at the realization. One of the tags might’ve unfolded, awkwardly bent over inside his locker, but all of them? He plunged his hand in, digging for his binder. It was right where it was supposed to be, but Neil didn’t feel any better. What if someone had read it? What if they told someone, and word got around to the wrong ears—

He yanked himself out of that line of thinking and stumbled into a bathroom stall so he could go through the binder. Everything was in place, everything was fine, the money and certificates still hiding between the endless articles about Kevin and Riko. Neil doubled over, pinning the binder against his stomach as he fought to breathe, his throat paralyzed. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, but nothing came up.

It was his mother’s voice that got him up, the ghostly echo spurring him back to his feet. She’d never had patience for his panic attacks, just hauled him up by the hair and slapped him back to consciousness. He imitated her now, digging his fingers into his forearms until the pain was stronger than the fear.

He walked out to the changeroom and showered like an automaton. There was a six-a.m. bus leaving towards Milwaukee tomorrow. Whatever problems Neil Josten had, he died tonight. He wouldn’t even keep the ID long enough to buy a bus ticket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You gotta admire andrew’s nerve tho he’s just like oh look neils here I should go there _immediately_ and loom menacingly over him---oh shit nicky followed me abort abort
> 
> Poor nicky :( he’s so new at this whole guardian thing and Andrew is the biggest pain in the ass that ever lived
> 
> and bethany was an idea i'm 99% sure i stole from nora's extra content, though her personality and backstory are my own invention 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrew and neil have a heart to heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for weapons and general violent thoughts. Some remembered gore. think thats it but let me know if i missed anything
> 
> thanks for reading!

Neil pressed his face into his duffel and pulled a fleece blanket tighter around him. No matter how he lay, his arm or his hip or his spine felt uncomfortable and cramped. The faint rustles he made when he shifted sounded like echoing footsteps.

The building was just old, he told himself. It always creaked. It was nearly midnight, but he hadn’t gotten a single wink of sleep. He doubted he’d sleep easy until he was well out of Columbia.

The _shink_ of steel on wood was like a gust of air. Neil sat bolt upright, instantly wide awake. That was no figment of imagination. He knew the sound of his door opening like he knew every creaking wall in this place. He sat so still he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, listening for just one more clue.

The footstep was whisper-light, but distinct. For a moment panic froze him, still wound up under his blanket like a child in the grip of a nightmare. Then he moved, slow and calculated. He would give his invader no sound with which to track him. He slid the strap of his duffel over his shoulder and threw the blanket over the small, sad stack of peanut butter and granola bars wedged against the wall beside his bed.

He pulled his handgun out of the pile of insulation and eased his way to his feet. A clink in the hall echoed from the door farthest away, and he dismissed the idea of slipping through the window. It was in full view of that second door. There were two routes to his main entrance; all he had to do was pick the one furthest from the invader and he’d be out before they knew he was here. Probably just a vagrant, noticing the same inviting features of the unfinished building that he had.

The sounds of his body moving drowned out everything else. The whisper of fabric, of rubber soles on dusty floors, even the slight huff of his breathing was loud in his ears. He stepped carefully over exposed rebar and skirted the whining board that bowed outwards in the middle of the floor.

He could barely see the room in the dim light, but he knew where he was, knew exactly how many paces it took to reach the door. He stretched his empty hand out, groping for the doorframe. For a blind second, he couldn’t find it, then finally his fingers closed on the unfinished two-by-four and he maneuvered around it into the deeper darkness of the hallway.

He crept further away from the noises he’d heard, testing with his toes before placing his feet flat. It took ages to reach the next turn, and as he tip-toed around the corner, he heard the scrape of the door that lead upstairs dragging open across the floor. His hip bumped against a layer of plywood leaned against the wall and he stifled a curse. He had to press up against the wall to sidle around it.

He was almost past when his shoe caught the bent-up corner of the ply, and in the second before he realized what he’d happened, his foot swung through and the plywood, edge dug into his laces, rasped loudly against the floor.

Neil staggered as the plywood fell on top of his foot, his throat closing with panic. He yanked at his foot to free it, only to send the sheet tumbling sideways. He grabbed for it, missed, his free hand fumbling the flat of the board until it teetered over and fell to the ground with an earth-shattering crash.

For a moment, all Neil could hear was his own ragged breathing, then footsteps echoed down the hall, moving swiftly in his direction. _Shit,_ no normal vagrant would actively seek a stranger in the night—

Neil discarded stealth and plunged down the hall in the near black. He tripped and crashed into the far wall, but didn’t pause. He threw himself down the hallway, careening past a window that cast faint light onto the floor, crashing into the very obstacles he’d arranged to trip up a trespasser. He saw the glow of streetlight from the open entrance and whipped around the corner, smashing straight into something heavy and solid.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall with a thud and pointing the gun forward, unable to see what—who—had blocked his way.

A brash clatter made Neil flinch, and then the dark form ahead of him resolved into the shape of a person raising their hands, silver flashing as something bounced off the ground. Silence strained in the dark hallway, then snapped abruptly.

“You!” Neil snarled, finally recognizing Andrew in the dim light, and struggled against a rising tide of fury, his pulse roaring in his ears, “You followed me,” he accused.

Andrew’s face was mostly in shadow, but his voice was calm despite the gun pointed at his chest. His eyes glinted in the dark, “I did,”

“ _Why?_ ”

“You’re a mystery. I don’t like secrets,”

“That’s it? You’re ruining my life because you’re _curious_?” Neil gestured cuttingly, dismissing his own question, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not your problem anymore, understand? As of tomorrow, you’ll never see me again.”

Andrew cocked his head to one side, giving Neil a once-over that lingered over his ratty running shoes and packed bag. “You’re running away,”

“It doesn’t matter. Get out of my way.” He brandished the gun, hoping Andrew would take the hint, but he didn’t move.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Andrew said.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about me,”

“But I know you want to disappear. Maybe no-one will ask questions if you go missing, but people will be looking for me. An investigation would lead directly to you,”

Neil opened his mouth, but his retort died on his tongue. He could hear his mother’s vicious hiss in his mind. _Grab his other arm Alex. Alex. Hurry!_ He could still feel the limp warmth of the dead mans arm as they dragged him away.

 He knew how to get rid of a body so no-one would ever find it. He knew who to call, where to hide the body, how to erase the evidence. Andrew was half the size of the gangster Neil’s mother had shot in Montreal. But that man had been trying to kill them, and the image of the oozing hole on his forehead still woke Neil in the night sometimes. An investigation might not lead to Neil at all, but those bitter words got tangled up and buried, and his silence sounded like defeat.

“Put the gun away,” Andrew said, “And we can talk,”

“What the hell would you want to talk about?”

“What it would take for you to stay in Columbia,”

“That’s…” Neil stared at him in confusion, his hands dropping a few inches, “I can’t stay. You’ve made sure of that,”

“Because someone might notice you’re a homeless runaway?”

Neil didn’t even flinch at the accusation, all the tension of the last few minutes numbing him to the word. He let the gun fall to his side and sagged against the wall. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t. But you have something I want,”

Blackmail? Neil couldn’t assume it had been Andrew who broke into his locker, but he was the most likely suspect. If he’d found his binder, he knew Neil was carrying nearly a half a million in cash and certificates. But bribing a high schooler? It seemed like a horrendous waste of money that was needed for fake ID’s and buying off gangsters.

He opted for a lie, just in case Andrew hadn’t been through his things, “I don’t have any money,”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Then what do you want?”

Andrew watched him for a long moment, and Neil wondered what calculations he was making in his mind. His expression showed nothing.

“Teach me how to use knives,”

“No,” Neil said, “Get out of my way,”

 “You’ve got no parents, that much is obvious, so switching to another school is going to be complicated. What would it take to convince you to stay?”

“I’m not teaching you how to use knives, and I don’t want anything from you, so we’re done here.” Andrew still didn’t move, but Neil was beyond caring. The nearest bus stop was only a five-minute walk away, but the local buses wouldn’t start running till 4:30. He was better off walking the forty-five minutes to the bus station. There was a bus leaving towards Florida at two—he wouldn’t go far, just a couple towns over, then switch to a new one, bouncing from city to city until he was untraceable. Even if Andrew kicked up a fuss in his absence, he would be too far away for it to matter.

“What’s your problem with knives?” Andrew asked, breaking through Neil’s thoughts.

Neil stared at him. “I don’t have a problem with knives.”

“Do you expect me to believe that? And I suppose you’re not a compulsive liar, either,”

 “Maybe I just don’t want to put a weapon in the hand of a psychopath, did you consider that?”

Andrew levelled a flat look at him, then bent down to retrieve his knife. Neil watched him, squeezing the grip of his gun so hard his joints ached, but Andrew just ran his thumb along the blade, checking for any scratches from the unexpected drop. After a long moment, he snapped the blade closed and pocketed it. Neil wished Andrew wasn’t standing directly in front of the open door. His expression was hard enough to read without being buried in shadow.

“Make a deal with me and you can stay here as long as you like. I can keep your secrets, keep quiet about your little hideaway here. No one has to know,”

“No one?” Neil said skeptically.

“That’s what I said,”

“Not even your brother? Or Nicky?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? I said no one, full stop.” Andrew folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The door behind him creaked in the breeze, swinging open wide enough to blow Neil’s hair into his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his head, trying to think rationally. If Andrew had said one true thing, it was that switching to a new school was a labyrinth of possible slip-ups. He still looked too young to pull off eighteen—

Neil shook his head violently to disperse those thoughts. He wasn’t actually considering making any kind of exchange with Andrew. “We’re done here,” he said harshly, shoving himself off the wall and trying to force his way out the door. Andrew didn’t get out of the way, but he didn’t stop him either.

The wind outside whipped straight through to Neil’s bones, blowing away the shards of his identity that were still clinging to his dilapidated hideout. He tugged at the zipper of his duffel twice before his clumsy hands managed to open it wide enough to hide the gun. He couldn’t take it on a bus, but he wasn’t going to leave it where Andrew could steal it. His skin crawled with the knowledge that Andrew was behind him, but he walked away as if it didn’t bother him.

He steadied himself against the fence and was about to squeeze through when Andrew interrupted him. His voice was quiet, but it pinned Neil in place as surely as if he’d physically restrained him. “If you really wanted to leave, you would’ve done it days ago. The truth is you want to stay here, to play at being normal, to chase that shiny scholarship Dresden is dangling in front of you. You’re lying to yourself on top of everyone else.”

Neil gripped the fence so hard the icy steel felt like it was burning. “Scholarships aren’t for people like me. They’re for people like you. I’ll always be nobody,”

The wind whistled along the open steel piping of the fence, making a haunting note that sang through the cold night air. Andrew was silent so long that Neil could feel his heart pounding in the palm of his hand. When he pulled it away from the fence he felt a tearing, like he’d ripped off a clump of flesh. He balled his fist up against the pain and gritted out, “Why would I trust you anyway. You follow me home, jump me in the middle of the night and think that I’m just going to turn around and agree to go along with your little charade?”

The sound of rocks crunching underfoot made Neil twist around to look at Andrew, but he was still standing in the doorway. “I followed you on Wednesday. I didn’t expect anyone to be here at midnight,”

It wasn’t the truth Neil had asked for, but it was honesty when he hadn’t expected any. “What were you hoping to find?” he asked.

“First tell me why you’ve got a problem with knives.”

It took Neil a moment to realize Andrew was proposing a trade. A tiny piece of Neil’s story, in exchange for Andrew’s suspicions. He fished for words, but came up with only a rotting taste in his mouth. There was no truth he could offer that wouldn’t cut him far deeper than Andrew’s accusations could.

“I don’t have a problem with knives,” he said finally.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem teaching me,” Andrew said. “You only have to do this one thing. In exchange, I’ll keep everyone off your back. Administration, students, teammates—I’ll deal with it. You can live whatever life you want in Columbia and no one will dig into your business. That’s the deal.”

Neil couldn’t speak. He felt wrung out and exhausted. Maintaining a false persona day-in, day-out wasn’t easy, but Andrew had somehow seen right through Neil’s pretenses and Neil felt adrift without his script to guide him. Neil Josten was a life raft, and the boy clinging to it was as incorporeal as a shadow.

Andrew waited, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The smell of smoke in the air was as terrible as it was comforting. He knew what his mother would do in this situation, but she wasn’t here anymore. Just an ephemeral voice on the wind and the knowledge that for all that his mother had done to keep them safe, she’d failed in the end. Just as he would.

He flinched when Andrew moved, but he only walked slowly to the gap in the fence, like he was approaching a skittish colt. He paused next to Neil, smoke trailing around him. “You’ve got all weekend to decide. If I see you on Monday, I assume the deals on. If not,” Andrew shrugged indifferently, “Then I suppose you’re not my problem,”

Neil felt a shudder wrack his body, and he couldn’t be sure it was entirely from the cold. Without thinking he reached out and plucked the cigarette from Andrew’s hand, taking a deep drag. The burn in his throat was preferable to the choking fear that threatened to bury him. He held the cigarette out for Andrew, but he slid Neil a cool look and ducked out past the fence.

He heard rather than saw Andrew walk away. For a long moment he swayed weakly, holding himself together by fraying threads, then he sank to his knees, shaking so hard he dropped the cigarette onto the ground beside him. His numb fingers fumbled and almost got singed against the still smouldering tip before he gave up. A thin thread of smoke wound up towards his face, then broke apart in a gust of wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew for fucks sake get a hobby you cant keep stalking your crush this is getting embarrassing
> 
> and neil actually dealing with his issues around knives? How could this possibly go wrong…
> 
>  
> 
> Sooo im moving in the next couple weeks so I prob wont update super soon? Ill try to finish one more chapter before I go but no promises. Thank you for your wonderful comments, im sorry im shit at replying but please assume that if you left a comment I read it over and over again while motivating myself to write. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo im back with a disagreement regarding cupcakes 
> 
> ive also updated the tags with some of the stuff from my upcoming chapters its getting...long. so yeah. fair warning.

“Hey Neil,”

“No,” Neil mumbled, nose almost to the paper as he scribbled frantically.

“I know you said not to ask,”

“Don’t,”

“We finished that essay on Friday, Neil,”

“I _know_ ,” he grumbled. He and Beth were sitting in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, but even the echoing shouts of students from outside the windows were giving him a headache. “I lost it,”

“How do you lose an entire essay?”

“I left it on the bus,” he said irritably, “Happy?”

“Would be happier if I didn’t have to sit with Grumpy the dwarf,” she said with a smirk.

“Just give me five minutes to finish this,” he muttered. Saturday morning he’d gone back to the garbage bin where he’d tossed his schoolwork, but it’d already been emptied. Today had been one frantic salvage operation after another.

Beth hummed in amusement, but left him alone for the minutes it took to dash off a quick conclusion. It wasn’t as polished as the one she’d edited for him, but there wasn’t time to write a clean draft.

“Okay,” he said finally, moving to tuck the paper into his textbook, but Beth held out her hand expectantly. Reluctantly, he handed it over, and she pulled out a bottle of white out. Within two sentences she was already painting over his words.

“One day, Neil, you will learn how to spell, but today is not that day,” she said, shaking her head and turning the page around so he could amend it. Several corrections later, Beth declared the essay fit to be shoved into a garbage disposal and sacrificed into the void.

“It’s better than a zero, anyway,” Neil said, tugging it out of her grip in case she tried to make good on her threat.

“I’m not so sure about that. You realize paragraph three is one sentence, right? Eleven commas, Neil. _Eleven_ ,”

Neil was already pulling out his Math textbook to get to work on the four questions due last period. There had been no way to get all this done over the weekend without his books, so he’d waited outside the library early this morning until the confused librarian arrived to re-check out the textbooks he’d returned Friday. It was probably just enough to preserve his grades, though he’d be working himself out of the pit he’d dug for weeks. He wouldn’t fail if he didn’t hand anything in this one time, but he didn’t need any teachers trying to chase down his parents over missing assignments.

“Don’t tell me you lost your math homework too,” Beth said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Not helping,”

“Is that any way to talk to someone who just rescued your essay?”

“Can you rescue my math homework?”

“Sorry pal, I don’t have math this semester,”

Neil grunted acknowledgement and leaned over the questions. At least with Math his answers were clear cut, unlike English. As long as he ended up with the right numbers, the worst Mrs. Walton could dock him for was having the wrong number of decimal points.

“What happened to your hand?”

“What?” Neil asked, mind still mostly full of numbers.

“Your hand,”

Neil understood too late and curled his left hand over to hide his scraped-up palm. It was red and peppered with splinters that were sure to start oozing soon if he didn’t get them out.  He really should’ve bought some tweezers over the weekend and dealt with it before anything got infected. “It’s nothing,”

“Whatever you say, Grumpy,” she said lightly, “Mom made you more cupcakes, by the way. She said you looked too skinny.,”

Neil blinked up at her. “Thanks?”

“I told her you’re an incurable jock. I think she likes you”

“Sure,” Neil said, nonplussed. “I’m not done the last ones though,”

“You’ll have a lifetime supply by the time mom’s done with you. We should go down to her shop sometime, I’m sure there’s some quiche even you could enjoy.” She passed him a container full of cupcakes.

“That sounds nice,” he murmured, popping open the lid and digging out what looked like a bran muffin with icing. When he bit into it he found the gooey remains of baked raspberries. He leaned back over his homework, but he only got a minute of peace before he was interrupted again.

“We’ve got incoming,” Beth warned. Neil jerked his head up just in time for Andrew to drop his tray on the table and sit down across from him.

For a moment, they sat in paralyzed silence, then Andrew’s bored gaze wandered away and he dug into his lunch without a word. Beth shot Neil a perplexed frown, to which he could only shrug.

“Hi Andrew,” she said pointedly. Andrew glanced at her briefly, but didn’t deign to respond. Beth rolled her eyes at Neil, as if to say, _can you believe this guy?_ Neil couldn’t think of anything to say. The deal he’d struck with Andrew—the deal he’d affirmed by coming to school today—was too big to explain, and certainly too big for the amused look on Beth’s face.

When no one made any overtures, Beth pulled out her phone and started scrolling through something. The silence was hardly comfortable, but Neil didn’t know any way to broach it. He hunched lower, nose almost to the paper as he scratched through another question.

Andrew scraped the food off his tray, the soft clink off his utensils somehow loud despite the dozens of other conversations that filled the room. Neil kept sneaking glances up at him, waiting for him to speak, but he worked his way through his lunch without a word.

He pushed his tray aside and casually reached over to Neil’s cupcakes. Beth’s hand shot out to swat him away.

Neil reacted a second too late, lunging forward. “Hey—”. Andrew’s expression twisted in an instant and his fingers clenched around Beth’s wrist. She flinched, wrenching against his grip, but she might have been locked in iron chains. Neil stopped dead, his hand outstretched to get between them. Neither of them seemed to notice him.

They stared one another down for a tense moment, then Beth clenched her jaw stubbornly and said in an even tone, “They’re for Neil,”

Andrew studied her as if he’d never seen her before, then released her wrist and turned to stare out the window. Beth hid her face with her hand and Neil slowly dropped back into his seat. Sickness coiled in his stomach as she devolved into shakes.

“Beth,” Neil began, but he trailed off helplessly. At the next table, he heard an outburst of whispers, and when he stole a glance in that direction a cluster of seniors hurriedly looked away. He shot a frustrated glare at Andrew, but he wasn’t paying attention. “Shit,” he muttered, “Beth are you—”

Her eyes peeked out above her fingers, and Neil realized with a shock that she was laughing uncontrollably, eyes sparkling with some joke he couldn’t quite grasp. She grinned at Neil from beneath her shielding hands and shook her head slightly before dissolving into silent giggles. He wondered if she was hysterical. He retrieved the cupcakes—which made Beth shake even harder with amusement—and tried unsuccessfully to focus on math. It felt unsafe to have Beth and Andrew near each other, like either might be enough spark to make the other explode.

Nobody managed to lift the silence in the fifteen minutes before the bell. Neil put away his unfinished homework resignedly, and stood up to follow Beth to English, only to freeze when he glanced at Andrew and found his gaze fixed directly on him.

Andrew’s eyes flicked to Beth, then back to Neil.

“Um, I’ll catch up in a sec,” Neil said as Beth paused to wait for him.

Annoyance flickered across her face at the dismissal, but she flipped her hand nonchalantly. “I’ll save you a spot,” she said over her shoulder, and disappeared across the cafeteria.

Neil folded his arms over his chest defensively as he faced Andrew across the table. “I didn’t realize the deal meant you got to follow me around,”

Andrew sat back, unperturbed, and said “I didn’t think you’d be here today,”

“I almost wasn’t,” Neil said, swallowing down bile. He’d vacillated on this decision all weekend, even going so far as to walk to the bus station and stand staring at timetables for nearly an hour.

“And your side of the deal?”

Neil’s heart pounded against his ribs. He nodded, though the part of his mind that spoke with his mother’s voice was still screaming. He buried her as deep as he could and asked, “When?”

“I have practice tonight. I can come to your…house after.”

Neil brushed the veiled mockery aside and picked up his duffel from where he’d tucked it between his feet. “I still don’t trust you,” he said over his shoulder as he turned to walk away.

Andrew rose as well. “You trusted me enough to stay,”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Neil muttered. He wasn’t sure if Andrew heard, and he didn’t stop to check. He was already going to be late to class.

\---

The old building didn’t feel as secure now that Andrew had violated it. Neil stood in the centre of his room, hands dangling uselessly at his sides. Every creak felt like a rerun of Friday night, the panic, the fear, the too-familiar sense of being hunted. He’d never find another place like this, not so close to school, but he debated moving all the same.

He shook his thoughts away and began clearing a space on the floor. As long as he was moving, he wasn’t thinking about what happened next. His plan—if you could call it that—had been fermenting for three days now. It wasn’t going to get any easier to stomach in the hour or so until Andrew got out of practice.

When he was finished, he surveyed his work, feeling dissatisfied. The clear spot made it horribly obvious that someone had been here recently. Scrapes in the dust revealed where he’d dragged a couple four-by-fours aside, and the space just seemed…unnatural.

He checked his watch. Still forty-five minutes till Exy practice would finish, let alone the time it would take for Andrew to get here. His body ached with the need to move, to run. His skin felt agitated by stillness. He’d already run today, to get to school early, but he still had a few miles left in him.

He strode over to his duffel and pulled it over his shoulder. A couple quick yanks to tighten his laces, and he was ready to go. _Knives._ Why did the deal have to be knives? Neil didn’t have good memories of a lot of things, but there had to be something else he could’ve traded Andrew that didn’t involve memories of ripped flesh and stitches in hotel bathrooms.

He tried to picture a world in which Andrew cut a deal in exchange for math homework. It was almost absurd enough to make his lips twist into a bitter smile.

Before his mind had a chance to bog him down further, he headed around the corner and down the hall. He turned past the plywood that had trapped him Friday and opened the door a crack. He slid through, pushed it closed behind him, and turned to find himself face to face with Andrew.

They both froze, and Neil scoured Andrew’s bland expression for a trace of surprise. After a moment Andrew folded his arms, glancing significantly at Neil’s bag. “Running away?”

“Going for a run,” Neil said, still trying to process Andrew’s sudden appearance, “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“Coach and I had a bit of a disagreement,” Andrew replied, then gestured to the door, “Shall we?”

There was nothing to do but turn around and head back inside. Andrew’s soft footfalls behind him made him wince as he maneuvered around the detritus blocking the hallways. He wondered how much of Andrew’s “Disagreement” had been deliberate. He didn’t seem the type to do anything by accident; he probably expected that if he left Neil alone too long he would disappear. The thought annoyed him, not least because he was half-convinced that concern was warranted.

Andrew took in Neil’s room without a word. His eyes swept over the heap of insulation where Neil slept and he felt a burning around his ears. It was one thing to live in squalor, but it was another thing to have someone see it.

He braced himself for the inevitable comments, but Andrew’s indifference didn’t budge. A small knot of apprehension loosened in Neil’s chest. Whatever Andrew’s interest in him was, it didn’t extend to pity. After a moments indecision, he dropped his bag by the door and stepped over a row of rebar to stand in the centre of his makeshift sparring ring.

When he turned around Andrew was across from him, two sets of footprints marring the thick dust that remained on the floor. His knife was already in hand, and he held it out for Neil.

“No,” Neil said flatly.

“No?” Andrew asked, that blank mask cracking for just a second as he raised an eyebrow. 

Neil clenched his fists by his sides and took a deep breath. “I need to know why,”

“Why what?”

Anxiety snared his thoughts and tangled the words on his tongue. It took two tries before he managed to force out the question he’d been preparing for days. “Why do you need to learn knives?”

Andrew’s head cocked to the side, considering Neil like a tedious puzzle. Neil pressed onwards, scared of Andrew’s reaction and simultaneously desperate for his answer. He wouldn’t stay here to train another monster like his father. He _wouldn’t_. “Everyone at school is already intimidated by you. You don’t need knives for that. So why do you need to know?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to a shrink session,” Andrew replied coolly.

“Give me a reason,” Neil retorted, “Or I’ll catch the next bus out and you can find someone else to teach you,”

The light wasn’t bright enough to reveal what thoughts went through Andrew’s head. Neil waited stubbornly. It was so quiet he could hear his own pulse.

“I’ll tell you,” Andrew said, and Neil felt a swooping relief in his stomach, “But not for free,”

“Fine. But what—”

Andrew raised one finger in a silencing gesture. “A question for a question. I’ll answer yours, if you answer mine,”

He grimaced, but nodded reluctantly. He’d half expected this, after Andrew had pushed the question twice on Friday. “What do you want to know?” he asked, arranging his lies and truths side by side. Andrew had seen through every lie Neil had told so far, but this time he was ready.

“Who’s Joseph Lalonde?”

Neil’s mouth was already open in an answer by the time the question caught up to him. He recoiled, his carefully planned story thrown into sudden disarray. “That’s—” He fumbled, the machinations of Andrew’s mind once again tossing him into unscripted territory.

One thought managed to overwhelm the others. “So you did go through my things,” he accused.

He could almost imagine amusement on Andrew’s face. “Are you going to waste your question with that?”

“No,” Neil said quickly, rallying. “It’s just a fake ID,”

“You already have a fake ID,”

“Yes, but,” Neil stopped. How had Andrew even known Neil Josten was a fake? He grimaced again. “It’s a back up plan. If I need to get away in a hurry, I can use that one. If people are looking for Neil, I can catch a bus as Joseph. Once I’m safe I can ditch it and get a new one that isn't connected to Columbia,”

Andrew accepted the explanation with a nod. Neil shifted uneasily. It was a simple thing, but it hinted at the greater truth. Neil would only need such precautions if he was running from something powerful enough to pull bus records and school files. Maybe it would’ve been safer to say Joseph was his real name—

But it was too late to think of lies now. Andrew had the truth, and Neil couldn’t take it back.

“I promised Aaron,” Andrew said.

“Promised him what?” Neil asked cautiously.

“That if a woman ever threatened him, I’d protect him,”

That pulled Neil up short. “Why a woman?” Not that women couldn’t do plenty of damage—Lola came to mind—but it seemed bizarre to ignore half the potential threats against his brother.

“You only get one question.” Andrew raised the knife again, waving it at Neil, “Do I pass?”

Neil didn’t answer immediately and Andrew seemed content to wait him out. His answer only raised more questions, but Neil didn’t trust himself to keep his secrets safe when Andrew had proved so expert at prying them out of his hands. He couldn’t afford another round of questions. 

What would his father say, if he were standing in Andrew’s shoes? He would invent a story, say what he thought Neil wanted to hear. He would be charming, ingratiating, until the second Neil had outlived his usefulness.

He didn’t think Andrew was lying. It was too strange, too specific, for a placating lie. The nausea that had plagued him all day faded as his clenched muscles loosened. He could be wrong, but he didn’t think he was. Andrew was a juvenile delinquent; he was blindingly violent when provoked, and abrasive and suspicious when not, but he wasn’t a liar.

The intensity of his relief took him completely by surprise. Even the revelation that Andrew had been through his things—and had dug through his bag in enough detail to find the fake ID hidden under the bottom seam—took a different light. Better Andrew than someone Neil didn’t have eyes on. Nicky had been with him the day he broke into Neil’s locker, and there had been no deal between them then, so there was no guarantee Nicky and Aaron didn’t already know what Andrew had found there, but that was Andrew’s problem now. Neil’s secrets, known and unknown, were his to keep.

“Okay,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “Okay.”

Skepticism quirked Andrew’s brow, but he dropped the knife in Neil’s palm when he held it out. For something barely four inches long, it felt unnaturally heavy. He stared at it, trying to breathe normally. It was just a knife, just a tool. He closed his fingers to hide it from view, but the floor was already quivering beneath him.

He flicked the blade open with a quick snap of his wrist. Most switchblades were too stiff to open smoothly, but Andrew’s barely made a sound. He pressed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. He was scared to look at Andrew with a knife in his hand. He could sense his mother standing behind him, urging him to strike. _End it_.

 _No_ , he thought desperately, but the word didn’t escape his mind. He could feel hot blades against his skin. The scars on his stomach flared up, burning as if fresh. The knife sat easily in his hand, as natural as his fingers.

A cold hand on his wrist made him jerk back instinctively, but Andrew caught him and didn’t let go. Neil flinched, his eyes leaping open. His whole body trembled, suspended between memories and reality. 

“That’s enough,” Andrew said, squeezing his wrist pitilessly. Neil let him take the knife from his hand unresisting.

“I’m not,” Neil said, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor, “I’m…” _I’m not like him._

Andrew’s grip didn’t falter. The entire world was falling down on him, and Andrew stood still. He shuddered and breathed deeply, reining in his thundering pulse. He’d barely touched the knife, and he’d shattered. Surely he hadn’t always been so fragile.

After a second he tugged his wrist and Andrew released him, stepping back out of Neil’s space. The knife dangled idly at his side, but somehow that was okay. Silence stretched on as Neil wrestled his emotions back under control, and Andrew’s gaze drifted to the window. Infinite patience or infinite boredom, Neil couldn’t tell, but the indifference cooled the phantom burning of his scars.

He cleared his throat and Andrew’s attention slid back to him. “The way you hold your thumb,” Neil said, forcing each word out like he was pulling stitches, “If you use it that way, you’ll slip and cut yourself.” He curled his hand midair around an imaginary hilt. “Like this,”

Andrew studied Neil’s hand for a second, then adjusted his own. Neil nodded and shifted into a ready stance. He could make this work. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil: im sorry are you okay  
> beth: I just got in an argument with the scariest dude in school over cupcakes, today is INCREDIBLE
> 
> thank you for your kudos and comments they give me life <3 hopefully the next update will be sooner but i make no promises :p


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 6! warnings for some homophobic idiot in the changeroom, and the usual violent memories from neil.

The second Neil entered the changeroom he was accosted and enthusiastically shepherded over the cross-country side. The Exy team was changing out on the other half of the room; the teams tended to naturally segregate down the double line of benches. The room reeked of unwashed gear.

He instinctively sought out Andrew, spotting him by the over-large goalie locker at the same moment that Andrew glanced towards him. They made the briefest of eye contact before Neil hastily looked away. They hadn’t explicitly discussed it, but he didn’t want people to know they were associated.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Sam accused, jerking Neil’s attention back to his own team.

“No I haven’t,” Neil lied.

“Oh, come on, I saw you out there with that girl—what’s her name? The redhead,”

“Leona?” Neil asked, confused, “We were just comparing homework,”

“Sure you were,” Sam said, a knowing smirk on his face.

“That’s,” Neil started to protest, then stopped. Leona _had_ been standing unusually close to him, giggling maybe a bit more than math homework warranted. If it had looked suggestive to Sam, it might not have been an accident.

He ran back over his interactions with her for the last few weeks. Now that he was looking for it, the pattern was obvious: pairing up with him during group time, sitting a little closer than necessary, drawing cutesy doodles up the sides of his homework. He’d just chalked it up to a bubbly personality and endured as best he could, but she didn’t behave that way with the other guys in their class.

Six months ago—had it only been six months? —One of his classmates in Montreal had started behaving much like Leona did. While Neil hadn’t exactly encouraged the flirtation, when they’d ended up alone after school one time and things took their course, he hadn’t resisted either.

He wouldn’t do the same here. Even without his mother to punish him, those brief, illicit kisses had been awkward and unfulfilling. And once his mother found out, they’d skipped town. Maybe if he’d kept to himself, they would’ve stayed there a little longer, maybe they wouldn’t have been spotted at the border by one of his father’s goons; maybe Seattle would never have happened.

He shook himself before he could start spiralling. Thousands of decisions lay between that day behind the school and the confrontation that killed his mother, and trying to figure out exactly when they’d stepped off track was as impossible as it was useless.

“It’s alright,” Sam was saying, “I understand, you’d rather hang out with a hot girl than your own teammates,”

“It’s not like that,” he said, digging his running shorts out of his bag. As easy as it would be to let Sam assume he and Leona were an item and give himself another excuse to avoid him, it would raise more problems than it would solve, “It won’t go anywhere,”

“Why not?”

Neil shrugged as he shucked his jeans and traded them for shorts. “I don’t really date,”

“What?” An incredulous voice said beside him. Neil suppressed a scowl at being overheard and glanced over to check who’d gotten involved. It was Wallace, a fellow junior, “Are you fucking Amish?”

“No, what—”

“I mean, no homo, but like, with your looks, you could date _anyone_. And Leona’s _hot_ ,”

Someone else down the line snorted. “No homo? What are you, twelve?”

Wallace flushed a deep red. “You know what I meant though. I mean, if I had a face like Neil—”

 “You can have it,” Neil muttered, but no-one heard him over the outpouring of crass jokes comparing Wallace’s face to the rear end of a horse.

For a minute, he appeared to be forgotten as the volume in the changeroom ricocheted upwards. But Sam wasn’t done with him yet.

“So, you’re not into Leona, what’s your type then?”

“What?” Neil blinked up at him, his mind halfway across the field where Beth was setting up the bake sale.

“What’s your type? Like,” Sam looked vaguely embarrassed as he traced a curvy figure in the air, “Girls? Or guys, whatever,”

“I don’t have a type,” Neil said, stuffing his feet into his shoes in his eagerness to escape the conversation.

“Come on, everyone’s got a type. Like who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Nobody,”

“Whatever you say,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“Really,” Neil said, irritated, “I’m not interested in anybody,”

That brought Sam up short. “Wait, like _anybody_ anybody?”

“I’m just not interested,” Neil stated flatly, “Are we going running today or what?”

“Yeah, sorry, I mean—”

Neil didn’t stick around to wait for Sam to figure out whether or not he needed to apologize.  Let Sam think he was weird for not liking Leona; he was trying to keep his entire identity under wraps. He had way more important things to deal with than advances from a girl he barely knew.

He dropped his water bottle beside the field and set off to do some laps while he waited for the rest of the team. High school could be exhausting sometimes.

\---

Neil rubbed his arms as he made his way through the raucous stadium. Sweat was cooling on his skin and leaving him with tired shivers. Practice had been awkward, as usual, but at least one thing was improved. With October creeping into November, the weather was cool enough that running was actually enjoyable.

The bake sale was set up down by the home goal again. Beth was seated behind it, though Josephine was nowhere to be seen.

“What’d I miss?” Neil asked, taking the empty seat.

“Not much,” Beth replied, “The Bobcats scored twice on Teia, but Andrew’s shut them out. The cold is killing me,”

“It’s not that bad,” Neil said, rummaging through his bag to pull out a sweatshirt. Deal or no deal, he wasn’t leaving his duffel in his locker any more than he had to these days. _Especially_ not today.

“It’s unnatural. I can’t remember the last time it went below 40 in October,”

“We visited Montreal once,” Neil said, surprising himself a little, “The snow banks were taller than I was,”

“Everything’s taller than you,”

“Hilarious,” Neil said, and after a second added, “If you’re so cold why did you wear flip-flops?”

“You know what they say, dress for the weather you want, not the weather you have,”

“I think that’s about jobs,”

“Same difference,” she said, leaning back to get a better view of the court. Neil imitated her, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Practice had dragged on forever. Coach Dresden was still plugging on about a scholarship and qualifications and calculating where he needed to place at the next meet to stay on track. He was just lucky nobody on the team had caught wind of that discussion, otherwise he’d never get a moments peace.

Directly ahead of them, Andrew stood in goal, a yellow twenty-four emblazoned across his green jersey. His giant goalkeepers racquet was slung low and ready. The ball was being battered around mid court, shouts from the stands making it clear that some borderline checks were being made. High school Exy had strict rules regarding contact, but from what he’d seen so far, they weren’t rigorously enforced.

The whistle finally blew after a particularly nasty collision, and the referee called out a penalty shot against the Beavers. An opposing striker lined up to take the shot and Neil shifted unconsciously, tensing up as if he was the one in goal.

The striker feinted left, then fired off his shot towards the opposite side of the goal. Andrew was moving before the ball left his racquet, slamming it straight back into the striker’s stomach. He doubled over in obvious pain.

There was an outcry from the Away side of the stadium, but after a quick conference the referees ruled it accidental. Neil wished he was on the other side of the plexiglass, so he could hear their discussion.

For the next ten minutes Neil sat hypnotized by the game. The Beavers were clearly outclassed, but the score sat at four-to-two in their favour, and by the time the buzzer sounded it was obvious why. The ball spent most of the time in Beaver territory, but no matter how they circumvented the defense, there was no way around Andrew. 

When the ball was out of striking distance, he was an unmoving stone in the goal, but when threatened he coiled like a python, all controlled power and lightning strikes. He never reacted unless the ball was actually headed between the lines. His stillness at miss-aimed shots was soaked in disdain.

The buzzer jolted Neil out of his reverie. Beth shot him an amused look, but didn’t say anything about his white-knuckled grip on the table. He forced his cramping hand to open, massaging some blood into it as they watched the crowds swell and descend on the table.

“Neil!” Sam said brightly, materializing at the front of the line. His hair was still wet and stuck up at weird angles from the showers. Neil stifled a groan. “We wondered where you disappeared off to! Are you here every week?”

“Just home games,” Beth supplied, reaching across Neil to take a few bills out of Sam’s hand, “We do football games on Saturdays too,”

“We do?” Neil asked.

“Yep, but I make mom do those. Exy is bad enough, but football is downright _tedious_ ,”

“Exy isn’t that bad,” Neil murmured.

“Not as good as cross though, right?” Sam interjected, standing around the side of the table with a macaroon in one hand and a brownie in the other.

“Sure,” Neil said, then asked Beth “Where is your mom, anyway?”

“I told her you were coming, so she’s probably at the café or something,”

The vague wave she made at the end felt like a deflection, but Neil didn’t have time to decipher it before the line ballooned and they had no more time for talk. Sam hovered awkwardly for a minute or two, then hurried off in the direction of the hot dog stand. Classmates, cross-country runners, teachers, and dozens upon dozens of other people Neil didn’t recognize bullied their way towards the table, clamouring for a couple of Josephine’s famous cupcakes.

Neil didn’t even jump when Andrew appeared beside him. Two weeks wasn’t really long enough to inure him to Andrew’s presence, but he didn’t have the energy left to keep panicking at every turn. Andrew pulled up a chair and sat beside the table, seemingly oblivious to how the crowd kept sneaking inquisitive looks his way. 

He reached over Neil and plucked a chocolate cupcake off the table. He’d stripped off his giant goalie gloves and arm pads, though he still wore his jersey. Stripes of sweat where his pads were attached made darker streaks on the black armbands sheathing his forearms. He put his feet up on the table and leaned back to eat his pilfered cupcake.

Immediately, Beth reached across to push his feet off, but she froze with her hand half an inch away. “Off,” she said, scowling as she retracted her arm. Andrew tilted his head lazily in her direction, but didn’t move.

“Neil,” she said in frustration, “A little help,”

He glanced over at Andrew, wondering if there was something smug in his bland expression. “You’re going to get mud on the cupcakes,” he said, peeling back the cling film on yet another tray of baked goods. For a long moment Andrew didn’t move, considering, then he dropped his feet and stared unblinking at the red painted lines of the goal wall ahead of them.

Neil’s skin itched from Andrew’s proximity. He’d assumed Andrew was on board with his unofficial avoidance policy, but clearly he’d been mistaken. He was too busy to tell Andrew off though, so he focussed on the table in front of him and shuffled three shortbread cookies onto a plate of gingersnaps to make space for the tray he’d retrieved.

Minutes ticked by while Neil whittled twenties into one’s and passed out napkins. They were starting to run out of change when the buzzer went off to signal the game restarting. Despite the outflux of people to the stands, Andrew showed no signs of leaving.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?”  Neil asked.

“They’ve got that other girl in goal,” Andrew said, starting in on a brownie.

“’That other girl’ being Teia Byrne, junior goalkeeper, been on the team for what, two years now?” Beth interjected, “Ringing a bell?”

Andrew shot her a cool look. “Sounds familiar,”

Neil hunched a little at the sizzling glare Beth sent over his head and handed the last few stragglers their snacks. He could see Sam standing across the stands, mouth agape as he stared at them. This was going to be all over the school by Monday—or at the very least all over the cross-country team.

“You should probably be over there in case they need a sub though,” Neil said.

“And listen to them prattle about Exy all afternoon?” Andrew scoffed, putting his feet back up on the newly vacated space on the table, “They’ll manage,”

“But they could use your input. You’re easily the best player on the team, your last save was incredible—”

He cut off abruptly as a rolled-up napkin bounced off his face. “Now you sound like Brent,” Andrew said, “Exy this, Exy that. Not everything’s about Exy,”

Neil ground his teeth, a sudden bitterness biting his tongue. Beth leaned past him, pushing Andrew’s feet off the table with an empty tray, “You could go share your non-sporty wisdom with the rest of the team. Maybe you could even learn their names. Just one or two, don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to strain yourself too hard,”

“Looks like you’re in luck,” Andrew said, pointing his half-eaten brownie down the side of the court, where Nicky was trotting towards them. “That’s my cue,”

“Andrew! Thank god, Coach Brent was freaking out on my ass— _what are you doing?”_ he snapped, spotting Neil and switching abruptly into German.

Neil’s blood froze in his veins. Terror spiked through his mind and splintered his thoughts. Nicky recognized him—

“Eating,” Andrew replied in German. Neil flinched like the word was a slap, but neither Nicky or Andrew was looking at him. It took him a second to realize that Nicky’s outburst hadn’t been directed at him at all. His breath came torn and jagged. Andrew had never mentioned German to him; he couldn’t know that Neil understood.

“You remember what the principal said right? One more incident and you could be expelled!”

“I will be expelled for eating cake?”

The awkwardness of Andrew’s phrasing made Neil’s shoulders loosen a fraction. It was clearly school-taught German, though Nicky’s fluency was nothing short of nerve wracking. He spoke the way you could only learn by immersion. What if he’d lived in Germany—he cut off that line of questioning. Europe wasn’t _that_ small. The odds that he and Nicky had intersected overseas were almost non-existent.

He would have to weasel some information out of Andrew about it though. Just to be safe.

“You broke into his locker. You almost _stabbed_ him. Why do you insist on antagonizing him?”

Andrew didn’t reply, staring vacantly past Nicky and popping the last of his brownie in his mouth. “Can you just—uugh,” Nicky growled, tearing his fingers through his hair, “We’re talking about this later,”

“Or not,” Andrew said, heaving himself out of his chair and setting off towards the home benches. Nicky shot them a frazzled, apologetic smile and chased after his wayward cousin.

“You’ve got shitty taste in friends,” Beth said drily, but her amusement was obvious.

“I don’t think we’re friends,” Neil muttered. Her good humour couldn’t get through to him and it wasn’t just lingering fear at hearing German unexpectedly. He wasn’t sure what Andrew said that had set him off, but it itched like an infected wound.

“What language do you think that was?”

“German,” he said immediately, then amended, “I think,”

“Definitely sounded angry enough,”

Neil paused, hoping he wasn’t giving away his fluency when he said, “I think Nicky was just worried,”

“That Andrew would eat all our cupcakes and run up an impossible bill?”

Neil couldn’t repress a glare, and Beth held up her hands in surrender, “I won’t report him if you wont,”

Neil forced the frown off his face and nodded acknowledgement. He knew Beth was just trying to keep the mood light, but he was too wound up to appreciate it.

“Though if he keeps pulling this, I might have to start keeping a tab,” she said after a moment.

“You’ll never get him to pay it,”

“I’ll get someone to weave it into his will somehow,”

Neil managed to quirk his lips into something resembling a smile, and Beth took that victory and moved on. They finished rearranging the table in silence and then leaned back to watch the rest of the game.

Andrew wasn’t back on for another twenty minutes, which was plenty of time for the Bobcats to make a comeback. The goal wall ahead of them lit up time and time again, so by the time Coach Brent finally subbed Teia out the Bobcats had racked up an irretrievable lead. Andrew being back on the court stopped the score from getting embarrassing, but he could do nothing for the striker’s failure to land a shot.

Jealousy boiled into hate in his stomach as he watched Andrew make yet another impossible save. How could he be that good, and still not care? He had everything—a family, a home, and a talent that would take him to university and beyond. And he got to _play_ , which was more than Neil would ever get. Andrew’s life had been plenty messy up till this point, but there would be mourners at his funeral; there would be none at Neil’s.

He crushed cling film between his fingers. He wanted to hate Andrew, but it wasn’t that simple, was it? He didn’t know if universities had policies against recruiting past offenders—he didn’t know anything about how scouting worked. It had never been an option for him, so there was no point in knowing. But if a juvenile record was enough to count against him…

Maybe a scholarship was a hollow fantasy, and by not caring Andrew was saving himself the pain of disappointment.

 “Someone got ketchup on the brownies,” Beth said despairingly as the game ran to a close and everyone descended from the stands. Neil shook out of his stupor and realized he’d missed his window for a private shower. The Beavers lined up and gave perfunctory handshakes to the other team, eager to get away from their defeat and into a hot shower.

A number of people stopped by the bake sale to grab something for the road, so Neil stuck around to help Beth finish up. Fifteen minutes later they packed all the empty trays onto a cart and pushed it out to the parking lot. “Mom’ll pick everything up soon, presuming she hasn’t forgotten I’m here,” Beth said.

“Okay,” Neil said, leaning on the cart wearily, “I’m gonna go shower, the Exy team should be done by now,”

“You have any plans tonight?”

“I have an appointment in an hour,”

“Alright,” she said, “See you, Grumpy,”

“See you,” he said, and made his way back towards the changerooms. As he’d hoped, several of the Exy players were already loitering around the exit, commiserating on their loss.

The mood was subdued when he slipped in the door. Callum greeted him with a wave that he ducked his head to avoid. He slouched across the room and checked the showers. They were empty, though the floor was soaked.

He dropped his duffel in the driest corner and dug out a change of clothes. Five minutes later he was clean and his fresh clothes clung to him in the humidity like a second skin. Almost there.

Loud voices echoing from the changeroom told him that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Why do they even let a freak like you stay on the team?” Dylan snarled from across the room.

Neil clenched his teeth and headed around the corner. He almost ran over Andrew, standing just beside the entrance to the showers in front of his massive goalie bag. He glanced at Neil and leaned over his bag, shoving a few last things into it with his back to the changeroom.

“Dylan, we talked this over with Coach,” Callum said with a deliberate calm.

“Fuck that,” Dylan snapped, “He almost knifed me. I don’t want to play with someone like that. Neil, back me up on this,”

“What?”

“He’s a fucking menace! Are you honestly okay with— _this_?” He gestured to Andrew as if it explained everything, red-faced and seething. Andrew raised an eyebrow at Neil, heaving his bag up over his shoulder.

“Go cry to someone who cares,” Neil said, turning away from Andrew and pushing across the changeroom.

“The fuck?”

“Nobody cares about your stupid tantrums,” Neil said, “Do you always bitch like this, or is it only when you don’t get your way?”

The half dozen Exy players still changing out gaped at Neil, jaws hanging open.

“Maybe you’re the one who should be kicked off the team,” He went on, “You pick useless fights on the court, and now you’re in here doing the same thing with your own fucking teammates.”

“You puny little shit!” Dylan growled, lunging at Neil. He dodged, putting a bench between them.

Callum was there a second later, hands out to Dylan in a pacifying gesture. “Hey, hey, Dylan, calm down,”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you heard him! I’ll rip his fucking head off!”

“Next time you pick a fight with Andrew, I won’t get in the way,” Neil said coolly, then looked back at Andrew. “He’s not worth the jail time,”

Andrew tipped his head back, eyes hooded and impenetrable. Neil didn’t know if he would rise to Dylan’s bait or not, but he wasn’t lying. If Andrew decided to gut Dylan, he would stay out of it. He had to trust that he was rational enough to know the cost of another fight. He pushed out of the room, letting Dylan’s threats get silenced by the closing door.

His hands were unsteady and his face felt sweaty despite his recent shower. _Reckless_. His duffel bumped against his side, a heavy reminder of the secrets he was meant to be holding close to his chest.

It had felt so good though. To let loose and release some of the acid that built up inside him. He sucked in a deep breath as he stumbled outside, the cold air stale from smog and car exhaust.

“That was unexpected,” Andrew’s voice said from behind him. Neil jerked around to look at him. His Exy bag hung off of one shoulder, nearly as big as he was. His hair was still spiky and wet from the showers. 

“You said I could live whatever life I wanted here,” He said, “Congratulations. This is me,”

“Surprising. I didn’t think you were a _complete_ idiot,”

“And there’s no blood on your clothes, so I’m going to guess you decided not to kill Dylan today,” Neil retorted, “Now if you don’t mind—”

“In a hurry?”

Neil froze in his shoes. “No,” he lied reflexively. Andrew slanted a bored look at him, and he relented. “I’m going to meet someone,”

“Who?”

“It’s not important,” he said, dropping his hand to his duffel and gripping the strap with his fist.

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t be lying about it,”

Neil fumbled for a response. He hadn’t thought up a cover story beyond the throw-away line he’d used on Beth. “It’s not important for you,”

Andrew stepped up till he was right in Neil’s face. His every instinct told him to retreat, but he stood his ground as they stared each other down, nose to nose. “I can’t protect you from threats I don’t know exist,” Andrew said.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Neil replied, “You just have to keep my secrets,”

“I can’t do that unless I know what you’re doing to compromise them,”

“This won’t,” _I hope_.

“You swear it?”

“Yes,” Neil said, and Andrew reached up, wrapping a hand around Neil’s throat. He leaned forward, threat implicit in every line of his body.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed.

“I’m not,” Neil croaked, “It’s nothing I can’t handle,”

Andrew growled, low and angry, his fingers tightening for an instant before he shoved Neil back. “It’s on your head,”

Neil rubbed his throat, but Andrew hadn’t done any permanent damage. He watched Andrew light up a cigarette, glancing around to check if they’d been seen. The parking lot was mostly out of sight, but there was no guarantee there weren’t witnesses.

The smoke drew Neil’s attention back to Andrew like flies to rotting meat. The cigarette hung from his lips, flaring as he took a long drag. A flake of ash dislodged and fell to the pavement.

“Who threatened Aaron?” Neil found himself asking. The question had been gnawing at him for two weeks now. Andrew didn’t react for a long moment, blowing out a cloud of smoke that floated in the cold air, clearly deciding whether Neil had offered enough to deserve the answer.

“His mother,” he said at last. The faint emphasis he put on the phrase was potent. Not _our_ mother. His mother. “When I got out of juvie, she was beating him. I made her stop,”

The question slipped out before he’d even had a chance to think it through. “Did you kill her?”

Andrew’s eyes glinted red, reflecting the burning end of the cigarette in his hand. “I told her to stop. She ignored me,”

Neil opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, then shook his head to clear it. The lengths Andrew had gone to—was going to—to keep his promise to Aaron was terrifying, but reassuring. If Andrew would resort to murder to keep his promises, then Neil’s secrets were safe with him till the world burned down.

He turned to leave, but Andrew interrupted him. “Why do you hate your face so much?”

Neil twisted to stare at him, perplexed. “I heard what you said to that freshman earlier,” Andrew said, “The hair dye and contacts, I understand. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“My contacts…” Neil trailed off. He hadn’t seen his real eyes in months, but Andrew had. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him for days after Andrew cornered him in his hideout that he’d rolled out of bed without his contacts in. He never went without them by day.

He could still remember the flash of his blue eyes in the rear-view mirror as his mother dragged him over to her and made him repeat his promises one final time, her breathing sour and caustic against his cheek as she choked on the last of her air. _Trust no one._ _Be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long._ She would kill him if she saw him now, honesty bleeding from him like a cut artery.

Why did he hate his face? Because if he was anyone else, _anyone_ , he wouldn’t be marked for death by the Butcher of Baltimore’s own eyes.

The cigarette butt bounced off Neil’s chest, snapping him back to Andrew, still waiting for an answer.

“Because I look like my father,” he said, tasting blood in his mouth as he said the word.

“Is he the one you’re running from?” Andrew asked.

“You only get one question,” Neil threw back at him. Andrew shot him an unimpressed look, clearly recognizing his own words. Neil’s lips curled in a bitter smile, and he knew it was his father’s grin that cut his face in two. He dug his fingernails into his palms as he forced the expression from his face.

“See you Monday,” he said, walking away. Andrew ignored him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bake sale is by the home goal for no particular reason it just ended up there when I wrote chapter 3, but an unintended and agreeable side effect is neil gets to stare at Andrews butt a lot. he'll appreciate that one day.
> 
> as always, thanks for your lovely comments, i read all of them (sometimes multiple times a day) i swear one day ill learn how to respond but for now im just going to hide under a blanket bc im too awkward to live <3 hope you liked this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andrew and neil find a convenient RooftopTM
> 
> warnings for a lil bit of gory thoughts from angstlord josten

Neil smothered a panting breath and inhaled sharply through his nose. Across the sparring circle, Andrew passed his knife from one hand to the other. Neil watched him, waiting for a clue to which hand he would attack from.

Andrew’s muscles bunched in the second before he lunged. The knife cut the air, but Neil was already moving, stepping to the side and blocking with his arm. The knife shot harmlessly past his head. His fingers locked on Andrew’s forearm, digging into the pressure point just beneath his elbow.

A fist blindsided him, catching him in the side of the throat. His grip spasmed, and Andrew moved in, driving his elbow into Neil’s side. He staggered away, but Andrew followed, relentless. He barely blocked another knife thrust, and another, his eyes stinging from the pain in his throat.

His foot caught something and he fell backwards, arms flailing. “Shit—”

Hands seized his shirt and almost tore it, flinging him to the side. He slammed into the ground on his hip, Andrew’s clenched fists twisting knots into his shirt. He collapsed onto his back, gasping for air.

Six inches beside his head, the floorboards ended, giving way to spiked rebar, pointing straight up like a row of rotting teeth. Neil tasted blood. If he’d fallen backwards onto one of those—

His gaze jerked up to Andrew, kneeling beside him. The knife was embedded point first where it fell, a step back from where Neil had tripped. 

“Thanks,” Neil managed. Andrew’s nostrils flared as he released his death grip on Neil’s shirt, standing up. Neil dropped his head against the floor and sucked in a deep breath before he planted his palms against the rough surface and heaved himself to his feet.

He wiped his eyes. There was dust in his contacts, making them scratch and tear.

“I guess that one won’t work on you anymore,” He said.

Andrew nodded and picked up the knife, checking it for damage. Neil took the chance to cross to his duffel and pull out his water bottle. Swallowing sent a sharp pain up to his ear. He dropped the bottle and returned to the sparring circle, his hip creaking with every step.

“Catch,” Andrew said, and Neil’s hands went up reflexively. His fingers closed on something small and cold.

“What?” He unfolded his hand and recoiled. A small switchblade nestled in the palm of his hand. It was a soft shade of grey that gleamed in the dim light, no more than two inches from end to end.

“It’s yours,”

 “No,” Neil said, “I don’t want it.”

“You’ve painted a target on your back. You shouldn’t go around unarmed,”

Neil opened his mouth to argue that he already had a weapon, but the retort died on his lips. As if sensing what went unsaid, Andrew continued, “A weapon is only useful if you carry it with you. That gun is worthless if you leave it behind,”

“I don’t need a knife,”

“You’re better at making enemies than friends. Besides, I need to practice against an armed opponent.”

“I can practice with something else,”

“It has to be real, or it’s meaningless,”

“I don’t want it,” Neil repeated.

“Just take the knife,”

“No,” Neil snapped, balling his fist around the knife and stepping forward. Andrew stared at him blandly, unimpressed. Neil scowled and shoved the blade flat into Andrew’s chest.

It clattered painfully against the floor. “We’re done for today,” Neil said, turning away and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. They burned from dust and the lingering pain from sparring.

A scrape told him that Andrew had picked up the knife from the floor. He didn’t check, just stepped over the rebar and dropped to the ground beside his duffel.

The familiar click of a lighter needled him. Smoke tinged the air and made everything soften and fade. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was his mother who sat across from him, sucking on a cigarette while she scoured the newspapers for hints of his father’s activities.

The image morphed into the night Andrew confronted him in his hideout. The barrel of the gun pointed at Andrew’s head and his mother’s finger on the trigger. Gunpowder and blood flashed across his vision.

His eyes snapped open.

No, if his mother was alive he wouldn’t be here. They’d be long gone by now.

His eyes stung again, and he wiped them roughly. Sparring kicked up so much dust that it shredded his contacts. Dampness tickled the corners of his eyes and he rubbed it away.

“Why don’t you just take them out?” Andrew asked, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve already seen your real eyes,”

Neil fell still. It was true, but his whole body rebelled at the notion, his muscles twisting into tense knots. His contacts were irritating and scratchy, but they were one more wall between Neil and Nathaniel.

There was only so many battles he could fight in a day. He removed his contacts one at a time and flicked them away. One stuck to the wall, a tiny brown smudge, before it fell out of sight. He rubbed his eyes, blinking at the startling clarity. He didn’t notice the shadow his contacts cast most of the time, but removing them was a relief.

Andrew tipped his head back, studying him. He didn’t have the energy to say anything, so he just stared blankly back at him until his gaze drifted away. He rested his head against the wall and watched the cherry of Andrew’s cigarette flare and fade with his breathing.

When Andrew stood up he assumed he was about to leave, but he crossed the room to the second doorway, the one that led upstairs. He glanced at Neil, as if waiting for a challenge, and disappeared into the stairwell.

Neil counted to ten silently in every language he knew. He stared at the ground, trying to draw a pattern in the knots of the plywood. Andrew’s explorations sent taps and rustles echoing through the building. A shower of dust cascaded from the ceiling at one loud thump, choking the air and turning it to grit.

Grumbling under his breath, he shoved himself to his feet and went looking for Andrew. Footsteps echoed up the stairs above him, so he skipped the second floor and continued upward. The rooms were dank and unlit, the windows boarded over.

He caught up to Andrew on the third floor. He was standing beneath a ladder in the centre of the hallway, brushing dust off of his coat.

“Where did you find that?” He asked. Andrew slanted him a bored look. “I went through this whole place back in August,”

“Didn’t look up, obviously,” Andrew said, pointing to the trap door above his head. A strap dangled from the back of the ladder. At the top, a pair of hinges held it steady, and a ladder-shaped moisture stain stretched out across the ceiling.

The hallway was filthy with dust and black spots on the floor that Neil suspected were droppings. Something crunched under his foot when he stepped toward the ladder. He flinched and looked down, expecting bones, but it was only a plastic spoon. When he looked up, Andrew was halfway up the ladder, fighting with a rusty latch.

Neil frowned in annoyance. “What are you trying to achieve?”

With a massive wrench, Andrew managed to yank the entire latch free of the rotting frame. He dropped it, heedless of where Neil was standing, and set his shoulder against the trapdoor. His arms tensed, cords on his neck standing up as he shoved against it. He grunted, almost growling with effort.

“Andrew,” Neil said, but before he could figure out what to say, the trapdoor gave way with a groan. Andrew heaved it up and over, mounting the last few steps into open air.

Neil rubbed his hand over his face. He could go back downstairs and ignore Andrew. He’d have to get bored eventually.

Curiosity prodded him harder than irritation. The ladder was cold under his hands, but held firm as he scrambled up the steps. He hauled himself onto the roof, glancing around.

The neighbouring buildings were all reasonably even in height, speckled with chimneys and vents. In the distance, downtown stood out like a miniature, skyscrapers only a hand high. Andrew’s silhouette cut the skyline in half. He stood at the far edge of the roof, so close to the lip that his toes peeked out into the air.  

 “You’re going to be seen. We’re not supposed to be here, remember?” Neil said. He waited a beat, then added, “That’s a three storey drop. You wouldn’t walk away from that,”

Andrew glanced back at Neil. “Don’t be so afraid to die,”

Neil blinked at the incongruous statement. Everything in his life was about staying alive, about fighting to stay breathing for another day, another hour. “Why are you so eager to?”

The dying light of the sunset sent flickering reflections off the solar panels across the street. The red glow made Andrew’s skin look sunburnt. He raised a hand to his throat, as if checking for a pulse. “To feel something,” He said at last.

“Because you only feel alive when you’re scared for your life?” Neil asked. Andrew tipped his head, not quite an agreement. “Or because that’s the only time you feel anything?”

He knew he’d hit on something when Andrew went still, staring at Neil with fathomless eyes. The only emotion he’d ever seen on Andrew’s face was anger, and that only once. He’d assumed it was learned, that juvie had taught him that to show emotion was to show weakness. But maybe it ran deeper than that. Maybe he’d buried his emotions so deep he couldn’t find them anymore, unless extreme circumstances forced them on him. After living with nothing, even fear must be a relief.

“Go away,” Andrew said, “Your idiocy is getting nauseating,”

“This is my house,” Neil reminded him.

“Tell that one to the police,”

“I won’t have to if you stop standing in full view of the street,”

“I don’t take orders from you,”

“Yes,” Neil said, “You’ve made that perfectly clear. Now _please_ move,”

Andrew went rigid, his hand drifting to the pocket where his knife was kept. “I don’t like that word,”

“Please?” Neil asked, nonplussed, “Why not?”

“It’s meaningless, and it changes nothing,”

“Fine,” Neil said, burying his frustration, “I’ll just add ‘manners’ to the never-ending list of things you have a grudge against.”

“Now he begins to understand,” Andrew said, turning away and staring across the city. To one side, the fading sun still burnt the buildings red and sooty orange. To the other, night was encroaching, blurring like a watercolour painting. Andrew drew out the small grey switchblade, tossing it back and forth between his hands absentmindedly.

Neil propped his hip against a chimney stack. Trying to force Andrew to move would only get him a knife to the throat, but it was tempting nevertheless. He tapped his fingers against his forearm, the wind flitting around him restlessly.

Andrew turned back to him, stepping away from the edge. He crossed the roof and caught Neil’s chin in one hand, pulling his head down so he could study his eyes in the waning light. Neil fought to remain still, hyper aware of the blade held in Andrew’s other hand.

He forced himself to meet Andrew’s gaze. They were so close he could see himself reflected in Andrew’s pupil, a tiny colourless blur.

“These,” Andrew said, indicating Neil’s eyes, “Don’t make you into your father,”

Neil jerked back, and Andrew released him, holding the small switchblade up in front of him like a talisman. He waggled it in Neil’s face. “What are you so afraid of?”

Neil growled and slapped Andrew’s hand aside. He turned around and headed for the ladder, fury making his hands shake as he threw himself down into the corridor. Andrew was a shield. A shield with sharp edges, but a shield nonetheless. Neil didn’t know what he was, but he knew one thing. Monsters didn’t tend to raise good people.

His feet boomed against the steps as he stormed downstairs. At the bottom he stood paralyzed, skin itching like it might crawl away. It still stank of smoke, the rough sparring circle a stark contrast to the rubble that cluttered the rest of the room.

It was just a knife. _Just_ a knife. He pressed a hand to his stomach, imagining he could feel the scars there through his t-shirt.

He shoved the thought aside and strode across the room to his nest. His fleece blanket was tangled over the mess of insulation and he busied his hands folding it over so that he wouldn’t have to lay directly on the rough material.

He didn’t look up when Andrew came downstairs. The sounds of footfalls faded as Andrew left the building, a chilly silence in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please imagine that before neil got to the top of the stairs, andrew was jumping as high as possible in order to grab the pull down ladder. it wasn't dignified. 
> 
> sorry for dropping off the earth for a month, feel reassured that i wrote loads just...not in the chapters i was supposed to be working on.
> 
> thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quiet day in columbia

Neil leaned out of the changeroom door to check the corridor and got a face-ful of cobweb. He wrinkled his nose and batted it away, pushing out of the door and entering the empty hallway. The fake spider web clung to his damp hair. The entire school was decked out in paper bats and jack-o-lanterns from the big Halloween dance last Friday.

The idea of being inside was stifling, so he left through the door to the field. Chills crawled through his damp hair from the wind. His legs were heavy and slow. Monday mornings he usually ran to school early to shower, since he didn’t have any access to running water over the weekends. All the cross country was making a difference though, and he could get to school now faster than ever.

There was forty-five minutes till class, but he had no homework to catch up on. Andrew often came to school early for a cigarette behind the school, so he meandered around the side of the gym, seeking out the telltale smoke.

“Hey,” A voice said from around the corner, “I, uh, wanted to talk,”

Neil stopped in his tracks. He didn’t recognize the boy who had spoken, but it sounded like a private conversation. He was about to sneak back inside, when he heard Andrew.

“I have nothing to say to you,”

“I just wanted to say, I mean, I know last time was kind of weird but,” The boy paused, “If you wanted to tie me down, that would be okay,”

There was a thump, and a soft grunt. Andrew growled, almost too quiet to hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” The boy murmured, “ _Please,_ ”

Andrew made a disgusted noise and there was another shuffle. “Go away,”

“Really, I mean, I think its kind of hot,”

“Go inflict your fetish on someone else,” Andrew said, and Neil heard the _shink_ of a switchblade.

He tensed, but after a brief scuffle a skinny teenage boy came stumbling around the corner, rattled but unharmed. He shot Neil an awkward glance and scurried out of sight.

Neil gripped his duffel in his fist till the strap cut into his palm. He wished he could scourge the conversation from his memory. Andrew and that boy had—Neil didn’t want to know. He should’ve walked away the second he heard them talking.

The rasp of the blade opening scraped his ears, echoing again and again. He turned to go, but before he took a single step, he spotted Dylan, standing just across the gym entrance.

He hadn’t noticed Neil yet. His sullen expression was focussed entirely on the phone in his hand while he stood between the pillars in front of the door. The fuzz of his curly hair looked grey in the shadowy doorway. He must have come outside when Neil was focussed on Andrew’s conversation, because he hadn’t heard a thing.

Dylan grumbled audibly, and Neil retreated. Caught between Dylan and Andrew, the choice was obvious.

He rounded the back of the gym and spotted Andrew sitting on an electrical box. He glanced at Neil once, and went back to opening and closing his knife one-handed. A dark flash bounced off the tinted blade every time he flicked his wrist.

To anyone else it might’ve seemed like intimidation, but Neil recognized the movement. Andrew was practicing his draw. His old grip was embedded in muscle memory; if he wanted to use the correct one in a crisis, he had to practice it so many times it erased the old one.

He dropped his duffel to the ground and sat on it, tipping his head back to lean against the wall. Andrew didn’t speak, and he couldn’t think of anything to say either. He closed his eyes and drifted. It was too early for conversation anyway, and if Andrew’s presence had one convenient side-effect, it was that it basically guaranteed privacy. 

He blinked his eyes open at the rustle of fabric, glancing over to Andrew. The knife had disappeared, and in its place Andrew held a pack of cigarettes. He lit one for himself and held up the pack in offer.

Neil held out his hand and Andrew dropped a cigarette in it, followed by his lighter. It was still warm from Andrew’s pocket. He flicked the lighter and watched the flame dance, squirming in the wind. After a second it blew out, and with the next flick he set the tip of his cigarette on fire.

He tossed the lighter back. Andrew caught it one handed and pocketed it, his face as smooth and bland as if the overheard conversation hadn’t happened. Neil passed his cigarette between his hands to scatter the scent.

A memory whispered at him, like he was trying to remember the answer to a question he already knew. He watched Andrew exhale a cloud of smoke, the acrid smell pointed and familiar.

“Where’s Aaron?” He asked, just to fill the silence.

“Why do you care?”

Neil shrugged. Andrew never spoke to him when Aaron was around, but he saw them in school, walking through the halls together like the rest of the world was beneath their notice. Without Andrew’s armbands, it would be nearly impossible to tell them apart.

After a moment, Andrew made a dismissive noise. “He’s probably sniffing around some whore,”

Neil wrinkled his eyebrows as the memory solidified into Dylan on the day of the fight, throwing homophobic accusations at Andrew, blindly shooting for a vulnerability. And he’d struck one, but it wasn’t the obvious. Neil wracked his brain, trying to remember the exact words that triggered Andrew’s outburst.

_Maybe we should send a girl after that gay-ass twin of yours._

Andrew glanced at him and he looked back out across the fields, turning the cigarette over in his hands. After a second, the rasp of oiled metal on metal resumed. Neil’s stomach felt settled and calm. Everything came back to Andrew’s promise to Aaron. He didn’t know why that mattered, but it did.  

The Exy stadium glinted as the sun pierced between grey smears of cloud. He could almost hear the distant shouts of an Exy game, the muffled sounds of the players in their plexiglass box. He forgot Andrew and Dylan and sank into the fantasy, imagining the rattling thunder of feet in the metal stands. Holding a racquet and following the line of players onto the court, his breathing echoing in his helmet. The blare of the horn and the heart-stopping seconds before the crash.

He dug his fingers into his knee, shifting sideways so he could unzip his duffel. Crumpled in a forgotten ball near the bottom was a sheaf of papers. He’d buried them in there over a month ago and never removed them.

He drew them out and flipped through the scholarship applications, studying the eligibility requirements one at a time, searching for any mention of criminal record checks. The acceptable ranges for academic grades were low enough that the dumbest jock could scrape a scholarship. The one leading to military college listed a background check in the conditions, but none of the rest said anything either way.

He crushed the pages in his hands. Coach Dresden might know more, but Neil would have to frame the question just right. He didn’t want Dresden to become curious about Neil’s past, wondering if he was the one with a criminal record, but he didn’t know how widespread the knowledge of Andrew’s stint in juvenile detention was either. He’d try at the library computers first; maybe university websites would be more forthcoming.

His cigarette was nearly dead, but he didn’t bother to relight it. He pressed the last spark against the corner of a page and watched as a small glowing circle ate its way through the paper, blowing out in the wind after only a second or two. He dropped the useless bundle on the ground and pocketed the extinguished cigarette for later.  

The burning end of a cigarette hit the ground a few inches in front of him. He squished it out with his shoe and looked up at Andrew questioningly. His eyes were fixed on the discarded papers, but after a moment he turned away.

 “I work tonight,” He said, “Entertain yourself for the evening,”

“Fine,” Neil said, “You have a job?”

Andrew hummed. “A nightclub.”

“Unless you missed a lot of school in juvie, you’re still underage,”

“You don’t need to be twenty-one to wash dishes,”

Neil snorted. The thrum of bus engines echoed from the parking lot, the first early arrivals trickling into the school. The brick behind him was rough and bumpy against his back when he leaned against it. They stayed like that in silent truce until the bell rang, isolated in their thoughts.

\---

Six hours later, after dismissal, Neil’s mind was fuzzy with exhaustion. He stood to the side of the milling crowd, waiting for it to clear.

The hallway was quieting down when Beth sidled up beside him and bumped his shoulder. “You have any plans for tonight?” She asked.

Neil opened his mouth to say yes, but stopped. Normally the days he didn’t have cross-country he met with Andrew, but today he had neither. “No, actually,” he said.

“Excellent. So you’re coming to the café, then?”

Neil blinked at her. “I…” She gave him a mock severe look. “I am?”

“Yep,” She said, and grinned. “Mom’s made some new cupcakes for you to try,”

Neil repressed an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. He made an effort to eat the cupcakes Josephine persisted in baking for him, but at least a third went stale in their box. “The raspberry ones were nice,” He said, truthfully.

“You should tell her. She’ll be thrilled to find out her campaign is working.”

“Okay,” Neil replied. “Where’s the café?”

“Oh, it’s walking distance, so we can wait for the hordes to die down a bit,”

“Alright,” Neil said. They picked their way out of the school and Beth led him around the back. The Exy team was trickling out toward the field, carrying equipment for drills. A giant body checking mat maneuvered out of the gym entrance, followed by half a dozen players carrying racquets and helmets. Neil ducked his head and let a jealous spike cut straight through him.

“Hey,” Someone said. Neil assumed they were talking to someone else and kept following Beth, until a hand on his chest shoved him back.

Neil stumbled backward. Andrew stood in front of him, his face knotted with disgust. It was so unlike his usual calm that Neil—oh.

“What’s going on with you and Andrew?” Aaron demanded.

“Nothing,” Neil replied warily.

“Bullshit,” Aaron spat.

“Ask him,” he said, “It’s nothing,”

It was disconcerting to see Andrew’s familiar features twist into a derisive sneer. Aaron shoved Neil aside with one hand and stormed towards the court.

“I guess they’re both assholes,” Neil commented to Beth, rubbing his chest.

“Andrew’s not that bad. Other than stealing my cupcakes and trying to stab you, anyway,”

Neil snorted for her benefit. “I mean the stabbing thing is almost forgivable,” Beth continued, “You’re a pain in the ass. But the cupcakes? That’s just rude,”

Behind them, Aaron crossed the field and joined Andrew by the door to the court. They stood separate from the team, but separate from one another, too. Neil frowned. They didn’t so much as look at each other. If Aaron was genuine, it meant Andrew really had kept Neil’s secrets from his family. 

“Do they really cut their hair the same?” Beth asked. Neil glanced at her, and she laughed at his expression. “I mean, seriously, who does that?”

Neil shrugged in response and she tugged him away from the school. They walked most of the way to the café in silence, but by the time they got there they were deep in discussion about their book study, _All Quiet on the Western Front._

The café was a bright affair, decorated in vibrant oranges and pinks. Half of it was laid out like a shop, with aisles of premade bread and baked goods, and the other half held a few round tables ringed by soft armchairs.

The guy at the cash desk greeted Beth with a familiar smile, and zipped into the back to tell Josephine they were there. They sat down to wait. Neil pulled out his copy of the book, reading out quotes he’d bookmarked while Beth jotted them down for use in their report.

A musical trill heralded Josephine into the shop. She burst through the door, a tray of cupcakes held above her head, singing her entrance. Every customer in the shop looked up, some in curiosity, but many in recognition. Beth buried her head in her hands, blushing furiously.  

“Time to fatten you up a bit,” Josephine said in lieu of greeting, placing the tray down on their table. Neil hunched over, the eyes of the other customers making his gut go cold and liquid.

“Mom, everyone’s staring,” Beth murmured helplessly.

“Now these three have a cream cheese icing,” Josephine explained, and proceeded to outline her half a dozen cupcakes in detail that Neil could barely process.

“Thanks, ma’am,” He said when she paused for breath.

“Hmmph,” She said, folding her arms speculatively, “It’s not working,”

“You can’t buy everyone with cupcakes,” Beth muttered.

“Worked on your father,” Josephine shot back.

“Ugh,”

Josephine grabbed Beth from above in a tight hug, “That’s my little grumpy guts,” She cooed into Beth’s hair. Beth swatted her away.

“Alright, alright,” Josephine said, releasing her. She pointed threateningly at Neil, “You’ll get back to me on those cupcakes, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

Josephine swanned away, stopping to fuss over a lady in the bread aisle before vanishing into the back. Neil breathed a sigh of relief. Josephine was well meaning, but her presence drew the eye like a waving flag.

“I’m sorry, she’s just…” Beth waved her hand, “I don’t know,”

“Excited to force feed me cupcakes?” Neil said weakly.

“Yes. That. Anyway, coffee?”

Neil nodded, “Black,”

“Just to be clear, are you actually a health nut or do you just hate happiness?”

She headed to the counter without waiting for an answer. She returned with two cups and they settled into more peaceful studying. Neil’s hands steadied around his mug, his fight or flight reflex fading. The music was upbeat but quiet, and Beth started making a sketch of their final poster on a napkin.

Neil glanced up when a woman entered the café, her blond hair in stiff steel curls. She met his gaze and he jerked his head back down, but her eyes had already slid over him to Beth. She bee-lined over to them, smiling benignly at Beth.

“Oh hey, honey, how you doing?” She said, leaning over and pursing her lips like she was talking to a small child.

“I’m good,” Beth said, “How are you?”

“I’m good, sweetie, I’m good. You know, you are just the bravest kid I know. What you must be going through—”

Beth stood up so quickly her chair screeched backwards. “Were you looking for my mom? I can go get her for you,”

“Oh, that’s alright, I can go find her myself,”

“No,” Beth said, “I’ll get her,”

She went around the counter and thumped on the kitchen door once before poking her head in. Her voice was muffled as she called, “Mom, Christie’s here,”

Josephine appeared less than ten seconds later covered head to toe in flour. “Christie!” She said with an aggressive grin, “So good to see you. Chat in my office?”

“Sure thing, Jo,” Christie said, shooting a honeyed smile at Beth and following Josephine into the back. Beth sat down with a huff.

The café seemed too quiet, like Neil’s ears were clogged with water. His mind went blank. He’d heard too many secrets today to contemplate whatever Christie said, and Beth’s expression brooked no inquiries.

She eyed him sideways, spinning her pen around her thumb with a flick. He ducked his head and sipped his coffee. Silence stretched for a long moment, then Beth snorted a laugh. “I love you, Neil,”

She tossed her hair back and leaned back over her napkin sketch. “Do you have any ideas for the thesis statement? I was thinking something about the romanticism of war versus the reality,”

“That sounds good,”

“Alright,” She said, “We’ll work from that,”

She pushed the finished sketch to him for his opinion. The quiet music bopped in the background, the warm scent of baking bread wafting through every time the kitchen door opened. They worked until nearly six-thirty, drinking cup after cup as the barista topped them up. Neil inhaled the warm, rich scent of coffee, pushing his worries out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my favourite chapter but whatever next chapter will be FUN  
> like SUPER DUPER FUN
> 
> thank you for reading! love you all <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil has a houseguest
> 
> warnings for violence, a little bit of gore, mentions of self harm, panic attacks, drugs, nonconsensual drug use, morally questionable behaviour, and a smattering of fanservicey nonsense.

Shuffling in the hallway woke Neil from his doze. Math homework was scattered around him where it had dropped from his lap half an hour ago. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, yawning. It was about the right time for Andrew to be arriving for his lesson, so he gathered up the wayward homework and stacked it next to his nest.

He pushed himself to his feet, peering around blearily. Andrew was still scraping around in the hallways. Neil secured his duffel in the corner and headed to the sparring circle to wait.

The window shone with light. Sunshine hit at just the right angle to flood the room with a warm glow. He took a moment to bask in the heat, growing rare as winter drew nearer.

A sound at the door made him turn around, yawning again, “Alright,” he said, but he didn’t get any further than that.

It wasn’t Andrew.

“Well hello there,” The man in the doorway said, “Nice place you have,”

“Who are you?” Neil asked, his chest tightening with panic. It was as if the man didn’t even hear him. He staggered into the light, draped in layers of ratty throw away clothes. The stench alone made Neil retreat back a step.

“Very nice,” The man leered, “Too nice for a little kid. I think I’ll have it,”

“Get out,” Neil said, but his voice shook.

“No? Not going to leave? Guess I’ll have to take it,”

He lunged forward and cackled when Neil skittered sideways. His duffel. He needed his duffel, then he could run. His eyes darted around the room, trying to gauge his escape routes.  

An ominous scrape made him flinch. “This’ll do,” The man panted, his eyes mad with hunger. He hefted a broken pipe in one hand.

“Easy,” Neil said, holding his hands out placatingly, but there was nothing sane in the man’s expression. He surged forward, swinging the pipe wildly. Neil dodged, grabbing for anything that could be used as a weapon. He got hold of a two by four, but when he tried to lift it a pile of rubble held it fast. He had to scramble to dodge another swipe, and by then the man was too close.

He swung the pipe and Neil knocked it aside with his forearm. The impact sent shards of pain up his arm, but the pipe bounced out of the mans hand and into the wall. He didn’t slow, slavering as he grabbed for Neil. His eyes were wild and yellow, the cracks at the side of his mouth breaking open and oozing.

Neil slapped his hands away, scrambling backwards. Stained fingernails clawed his arms. “Get off!” He gasped, trying to shove the man back, but he grabbed hold of Neil’s wrists. His grip was startling strong.

“Get off of me!” He snarled, thrashing. His feet tangled and he went over, the force of his fall wrenching one wrist free. The man lunged forward, his clawed fingernails scrabbling for Neil’s throat.

Abruptly, the weight was torn away, and the man lurched backwards. Neil’s head ricocheted off the floor. His eyes swam as he struggled to push himself up.

He couldn’t make sense of what he saw. His mind was awash in the fog of concussion, making his limbs weak and rubbery and his thoughts crawl. The ground felt coarse and vivid beneath his hands. Growls bruised his ears.

His vision resolved like the snap of an elastic band. Andrew had the man from behind, arms hooked under his shoulders, but he was nearly a foot shorter and the man had leverage on his side. He drove his elbow backwards into Andrew’s chest.

Neil tried to shout a warning, but his voice came out an inarticulate whisper. “The floor,” he croaked, but it was too late. Andrew’s foot twisted on a spike of rebar. He snarled in pain and went down on his knee. The madman landed on top of him and they went down, still struggling for superiority.

A thump resounded through the floor and the two figures rolled apart. Andrew scrambled to his feet, teeth bared in a growl. The junkie didn’t move.

“Where’s your gun?” Andrew demanded, scanning for threats. Neil still sat halfway up, frozen where the junkie had attacked him.

“Where is it?” Andrew snarled, and Neil jumped, the words finally processing.

“I got rid of it,”

“You did what?”

Neil stared at the body on the floor, bile rising in his throat, “It was—I got rid of it weeks ago. Before Halloween,”

“ _Why?”_

His gaze jumped to Andrew, throat working soundlessly. The bruise on his skull throbbed. His vision closed, the sound of a gunshot echoing in his mind. He could see the streetlights dim glow, Andrew sprawled on his back across the rubble. Blood oozed from his eye socket, sunken and popped like a blister, glistening black against his pale skin.

“No,” He gasped, pressing his eyes shut, but the afterimage hovered behind his eyelids. He dug his fingers into his hair, struggling to pull in enough air.

“Is he alive?” He forced out.

Andrew’s vicious expression didn’t change, but he bent over to check for a pulse. “Still breathing,” he said.

Neil shuddered, relief and terror coiling in a sick cocktail in his stomach. “What do we do?”

Andrew rifled through the man’s pockets with practiced efficiency. He dropped a few grubby bills on the ground, followed by a baggie of white powder, a spoon, a lighter, and a fat needle. 

“Fuck,” Neil muttered.

He stared at the collection, a terrible thought occurring to him. He flinched away from it, limping over the rebar so he could crouch next to Andrew. Scattered drops of blood caught his eye and he followed them to the source.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, reaching for Andrew’s arm, where his armband glistened wetly.

Andrew wrenched out of reach with a hiss. “ _Don’t touch me_ ,”

Neil froze. Drops of blood rolled off Andrew’s knuckles, but Neil’s eyes caught a little higher, where the rebar had shredded his armband, leaving a swath of pale skin exposed. Thin, minnow-like scars crossed over and over each other, rent by a wide, fresh scrape.

Andrew’s eyes followed Neil’s and he snatched his arm back where it couldn’t be seen.

Neil buried his shock. “I’ve got bandages. It shouldn’t need stitches, but you’ll need to disinfect it,”

Andrew nodded slowly, and Neil crossed over to his nest, digging out the bag of first aid supplies buried there. He dropped it next to Andrew and sat back on his haunches. Andrew turned away to clean his arm with an antiseptic wipe, but Neil could picture his arm vividly. Dozens of silver scars, smeared with sweat and dust and thick oozes of blood.

He dug his fingers into his forearm, watching Andrew’s expression while he wrapped gauze around his arm, hiding evidence of past and present injury. His hazel eyes were dark and hateful, but Neil didn’t know whether that was directed at him, the junkie, or Andrew himself.

“You hit your head,” Andrew said.

It was just an observation, devoid of concern, but Neil still retreated. “I’m fine,”

“Don’t go to school tomorrow,” Andrew said, “I’ll get you a doctor’s note,”

“Andrew, I can’t,” He fumbled for words. “I can’t go back. If he talks—”

“I said you could stay. Do you not believe me?”

The accusation in Andrew’s tone hit Neil like a kidney punch, but his voice didn’t shake. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt for me,”

Something impenetrable flashed across Andrew’s face, then vanished, taking all traces of his rage with him.

“I hate you,” Andrew said, as indifferent as the Arctic sun.

Neil flinched, but Andrew ignored him, reaching down to scoop up the small baggie of drugs and dangle it in front of Neil’s face. “A bit of this in his system and he won’t remember a thing. We can call him an ambulance and leave him where they’ll find him,” Andrew said.

“It’s too risky,”

“I can handle it,”

Andrew watched him with keen eyes. He backed away, feeling a ripping sensation in his chest. Andrew had been hurt. A stranger had seen him. Everything was coming apart, the threads disintegrating from beneath his fingertips. Air whistled through him like a torn plastic bag.

Cold fingers dug into his hair, shoving him to his knees. He crumpled like a broken puppet, legs askew, the only real thing in the world the tearing pain in his scalp.

“Enough,” Andrew said. His voice dropped like a stone through Neil’s mind. He sucked in a ragged breath, choking on his own saliva. He forcibly dropped his shoulders and Andrew’s grip on his hair loosened.

He made himself look up and meet Andrew’s gaze. The abyss in those eyes should’ve scared him, but it was a calm sea compared to the storm of his own mind.

“I made you a promise,” Andrew said, “Did you believe me, or not?”

He nodded slowly. It was the only true answer he could give.

Andrew’s plan rode the line between outright cruelty and mercy, but his mother had done worse to keep them safe. There was always the risk that the man’s memory would stand the test of the drugs, but it was a small one. The words of a junkie were rarely taken seriously.

Still, he couldn’t suppress the tiny voice that whispered that it would’ve been easier if the man died.

He buried the thought, trying to ignore the empty space where guilt should’ve been. Andrew had a solution that would spare his conscience. Assuming he still had one.

“My car is a few blocks away,” Andrew said, “Keep him down for five more minutes,”

“You have a car?”

“You don’t think I walk here, do you?”

He didn’t have a response to that. The car was surprising, but it would make this much simpler. “Use the back alley,” He said, “We should be able to get him out the gate without being seen,”

Andrew nodded, though Neil was sure the thought had already gone through his head. Fear still swam in his mind, turning his thoughts into tangled shreds and tying them into knots. Not for the first time, he envied Andrew’s apathy.

Andrew studied him, gauging how likely he was to completely melt down when left alone. “I’m fine,” Neil said, “Go,”

He didn’t know if Andrew believed him, but he turned without a word. The sound of his footsteps faded, and Neil struggled to keep his breathing under control. He could hear his heartbeat against his eardrums.

He needed to restrain the man. He scoured the floor and came up with some twine, which he bound around the mans ankles and wrists, not tight enough to leave marks. The fact that he hadn’t woken up yet was worrying, even if it did make this easier. Head injuries could be tricky.

A strip of one of his oldest t-shirts served as a gag. He grimaced as his hands brushed against the sores on the man’s scalp where his hair had torn out. That done, there was little to do except wait for Andrew. He couldn’t lift the man without help, and dragging would be too conspicuous.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach. He didn’t want to look at the unconscious man on the floor, but he had to watch him in case he woke up. Should he blindfold him? He didn’t think the man had gotten a good look at Andrew, only Neil. He bound the rest of the torn shirt around the man’s head, covering his eyes. What else? His mind spun in circles. There had to be more. There had to be more. There had to be—

He doubled over, pressing his hands against his gut. His mother would’ve known what to do. She would’ve made the call. Slipped the needle under his skin and pushed until the weakened junkie’s heart rattled to a stop.

His chest convulsed as he vomited. His eyes watered, nose burning from acidic sludge. He staggered to his nest and cracked open a water bottle, pouring half of it down his face when he tried to hold it to his lips. He got one good pull and swilled it around his mouth before spitting it out.

The bottle splashed to the ground. He sank down onto his nest, focussing on the sting of bile in his throat rather than his crumbling mind. Andrew would be back soon. He counted to three as he breathed in, three out, three in, three out.

His stomach still swam with nausea, but he wasn’t falling anymore. He pressed his forehead against his knee and pieced himself back together bit by ragged bit. His clothes felt too tight, the air too heavy.

Soft footfalls pulled him back into the present. He shoved himself to his feet, clumsy but not helpless. Andrew spared him a glance to check that he was still functional, and crossed over to the unconscious junkie.

“Still alive,” He confirmed, “Help me lift him,”

Neil nodded mutely. He slung his duffel over one shoulder and joined Andrew beside the body. Walking without stumbling took all of his focus. He let that blanket him, thinking only about his physical motions. Andrew hooked his arms under the man’s shoulders and Neil followed suit with the legs.

They shuffled back towards the door. Neil shunted the mans’ legs further up his sides, sweaty fingers slipping on his filthy jeans. Bony knees dug into his ribcage.

Neil stumbled over some rubble and nearly lost his grip. The second time it happened Andrew growled. “Let go,”

“I’m fine,”

“Drop it,” Andrew said, stopping dead. Neil clenched his jaw stubbornly, but Andrew just stared at him, unmoved.

Slowly, Neil lowered the man’s legs to the floor. Andrew readjusted his grip and heaved the man over his shoulder. He didn’t even sway under the weight. Neil pushed a frustrated scowl off his face and wove past Andrew so he could check the coast was clear. Other than how heavy his footsteps sounded, there was no hint that the extra burden bothered Andrew at all.

He poked his head out the door and scanned the alley. A sleek black car was parked next to the gap in the fence, as out of place as a diamond in a field of stones. He swept the area again, but no other cars appeared.

“Stare later,” Andrew grunted.

“ _That’s_ your car?” Neil asked, incredulous.

“Yes,”

“Did you steal it?”

“Is it clear, or not?”

He checked again, remembering to look up, as his mother taught him. People almost never noticed someone hiding even a few feet above their heads. A second-floor window was an ideal spy point.

“Clear,” He said, pushing the door open and hastening to the car. The back door opened at a tug and he swung it wide. Andrew was less than a step behind, slinging the man into the backseat, swift but not careless. He tossed a thin blanket over the prone body, bunching it up so it disguised the shape.

He slammed the door closed. “Get in,” He said, rounding the car to the driver’s side. Neil got into the passenger seat mechanically and stuffed his duffel down by his feet. The seats smelled like new leather and cigarette smoke. 

He’d barely sat down when the engine roared and Andrew hit the accelerator. Neil’s skull slammed against the headrest, pinning him to the seat and sending a wave of nausea through him. He fumbled for the seatbelt as Andrew whipped around the corner. It took three tries to click it in place, and even then, he hung onto the door for dear life.

The car purred under Andrew’s hands, weaving through the streets with expert abandon. He closed his eyes, but the blind turns only made his stomach flip. He blinked, breathing through his nose. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,”

Neil bit back an acerbic response. The unwashed smell of the homeless man wafted up from the backseat, and he opened his window a crack.

He couldn’t help glancing into the back every few seconds, terrified that the junkie would wake up before they arrived, until Andrew forcibly pointed his face forward with a finger dug into his cheek. Neil hunched lower in his seat. He knew he was acting suspicious, but paranoia gnawed at his stomach.

They’d been driving nearly fifteen minutes when he heard a groan out of the backseat. He slammed the window button to close it, hissing to Andrew, “He’s waking up,”

“I know,” Andrew replied, throwing the car into gear and veering into a narrow lane so abruptly that Neil was squashed against the car door. “Check the glove compartment,”

“For what?”

“In the sunglasses case,”

The glove compartment popped open at an automated button and Neil grabbed a zip-up case out of it. Inside were small square packets of what felt like some kind of powder. “What is it?”

“Dust,” Andrew said, unhelpfully, “Give it to him if he starts moving,”

“What will it do to him?”

Andrew glanced at him, the only sign that Neil’s questions were irritating him, then turned back to the road. “It’s a party drug. It impairs your judgement and causes mild memory loss.”

Neil didn’t ask why Andrew kept that sort of thing in his car. His mind was too busy with the practicalities.

“He’s a drug addict,” Neil said, “His tolerance is probably through the roof,”

“Then give him more than one,”

Neil grit his teeth and reclined his seat so he had better access to the backseat. Lying down made him feel strangely vulnerable, but he reached back and lifted a corner of the blanket.

The small stream of fresh air acted as a trigger. The man lashed out, his bound hands bouncing off the back of Andrew’s seat. The car jerked sideways with the impact.

“Get on with it,” Andrew snarled.

Neil dropped the blanket, grabbing the man’s wrists and holding them against the seat with both hands. “Someone’s going to see us,” He hissed.

“There’s nobody around,”

Neil fumbled for the dust in his lap. He didn’t know if Andrew was right—about anything—but right now he had to trust him. He managed to tear one packet open, spilling some across the seat in the process. The man shifted, still groggy, but coming to.

Neil pulled the blanket off his face and grabbed his bristly jaw, pulling the gag free just enough to tip the contents of the packet into his mouth. The man coughed, spraying sparkling dust everywhere. Neil stuffed the gag back in but the man rolled around, and Neil tried to hold his shoulders still.

“It’s not working,” He said helplessly.

“Almost there,” Andrew said, flattening his foot on the accelerator and putting on another burst of speed. From his low vantage Neil could just make out fields flanking the road.

Two more sharp swerves and they came to an abrupt halt. “Stay,” Andrew said, cutting the engine and throwing open the car door. Neil’s arms ached from holding the man down at such an awkward angle. He couldn’t see what Andrew was doing.

“Mmph,” The junkie grumbled, squirming feebly.

“Shut up,” Neil muttered.

It felt like an eternity before Andrew opened the back door. His hands were sheathed in thin black gloves. Light glinted off the needle in his hand, making Neil flinch.

Andrew met his gaze for a moment, waiting for an objection. Neil looked away, ashamed. When he said nothing, Andrew bent over and grabbed the man’s arm in a bruising grip, pressing down on the vein until the blood pooled and bulged.

He didn’t linger over it as he pushed the needle into the vein and depressed the plunger. The junkie shuddered, going limp before he’d even emptied the needle. Tentatively, Neil released the man’s shoulders and sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Neil maneuvered out of the car and studied their surroundings. They were stopped in a parking lot next to a riverside park. There was no one in sight, just the sound of plastic bags rustling in the wind. Fast food containers and candy wrappers choked the grass, making what should’ve been an idyllic sight somewhat revolting.

“Why here?” He asked.

“It’s quiet, and lots of junkies come here to shoot up. The cops sweep it most evenings,”

“How do you know?”

Andrew glanced at him. “Aaron used to come here a lot,”

“Used to?”

“I got him clean after his mother died,” Andrew said, “Before that he got picked up by the cops here at least twice,”

“Oh,” Neil said. A dozen other questions popped into his mind, but he forcibly redirected himself.

Andrew tugged the man’s body out of the backseat and they carried him awkwardly to the side of the path, just far enough from the parking lot so he wasn’t obvious from the road. Neil folded the blanket and stowed it in the car—they’d have to dump it somewhere in case it had any bodily fluids on it—while Andrew untied the man and arranged his limbs so it looked like he’d fallen. When Neil turned around Andrew was pressing a stone into the oozing bruise where the man had hit his head. He left the rock on the ground beside him and stood up, peeling off his gloves.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Neil knew they should clear out and rely on the fact that someone would stumble on him sooner or later, but the notion made him squirm internally. It was something his mother would’ve done without a second thought.

“Pigs,” Andrew said, jerking his head around like a bloodhound. Neil followed his gaze and spotted two uniformed officers, heading up the trail towards them.

He reacted instinctively, grabbing Andrew’s sleeve and diving behind the car. Andrew ripped his arm free and hunkered beside him. Neil dug his fingers into the ground, breathing hard. “If they hear the car they’ll know we were here at the same time as he was,” he whispered.

“If we don’t leave they’ll be able to get a license plate,”

They stared at one another, straining to hear if the cops were approaching. “Is there anything incriminating in the car?” Neil asked.

“Just the blanket.”

“Is it locked?”

Andrew reached into his pocket and Neil heard a thunk next to his ear as the doors locked. Neil turned slowly, trying not to let his feet crunch on the gravel beneath him. He eased his way to the bumper, peering around it. The cops were still a couple hundred yards off. Too close to make a getaway in the car.

Neil drew back out of sight. There was a copse of trees that the patrol would have to pass through. It would provide cover for maybe a minute. He counted in his head, trying to guess how far they would’ve gotten.  

He couldn’t tell if it was taking too long or not. He leaned forward again just in time to see boots disappear into the trees.

“Run,” He said.

Andrew didn’t hesitate. He took off on the grassy verge, Neil at his heels, leading them out of the narrow parking lot and down the lane. Their feet chewed the ground, and Neil hoped the sound was too faint to carry. The wound on his head throbbed with every step, drowning out his thoughts.

They rounded the corner and Andrew stuck his arm out to stop Neil. He nearly ran into him. Andrew scanned the street, then jerked his head one way.

“Walk,” Andrew said, “Try to act natural,”

Neil wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve. Like that was likely. “Are we just going to walk around until they go?”

“You have a better plan?”

“Catch a bus. Get out of the area. Come back in a few hours.”

Andrew tipped his head, considering. “There’s a bus stop two blocks down.”

“Okay,”

The road was empty. A few farmhouses sat back from the road, their curtained windows wary and dark. Neil followed Andrew along the ditch, hoping the sleepy residents would be too lazy to step outside. The houses quickly got denser, rural giving way to urban. Neil ran his fingers through his hair, probing the bruise gently to check for blood. A jolt of pain shot through his head, but his hands came away clean.

Andrew stopped at a sign listing bus schedules. “Nothing for half an hour,”

“Damn,” Neil muttered. Beyond the bus stop, a proper sidewalk grew out of the ditch, leading into town. An elderly lady crossed the street ahead of them, glancing at them with eyes buried in wrinkles. Neil stuffed his hands in his pocket and tried to look innocuous. They were both sweaty and disheveled, but they were short enough to pass off as younger than they really were.

When he turned around Andrew was already walking away. Neil followed him wordlessly. They walked far enough that Neil’s racing heart began to calm, his hair clinging together in tacky lines from dried sweat.

Andrew stepped over the curb into a parking lot. The smell of greasy fries made Neil look up.

“McDonalds?” He asked. “Are we really going in there?”

“I’m hungry,”

“How can you—”

Andrew pushed the door open and let it swing shut in Neil’s face. He sighed and joined Andrew inside. It was warm, which only served to remind Neil of how cold he was. His jacket was in his duffel, stuffed in the foot well of Andrew’s car.

He studied the room critically. It was dingy and unkempt, like the rest of the neighbourhood. Other than the front door, there was only one exit, and Neil suspected that led to an equally unkempt bathroom. The garbage bins were full to overflowing, and the two staff members present spent more time nattering at one another than actually working.

While Andrew ordered, Neil wove through the tables to one in the back corner. It had a straight path to the front door and a full view of both the cashiers and the other customers. He sat down and rubbed his forehead. His head ached, the precursor to a full-blown migraine.

Andrew planted a cup in front of him. “Drink,” He said.

Neil stared at him, perplexed, but he just slid into the opposite seat and unwrapped a massive burger. He tugged the pickle off and dropped it on the tray, then started in on it. The scent turned Neil’s stomach, and he took a sip out of the cup in front of him just to keep his hands busy.

The taste of coffee took the edge off his nausea. Andrew hadn’t put any sugar or cream in it, though he had some on his tray. He scratched idly at the DCF written on the lid in white marker.

Andrew placed his half-eaten burger down and dumped the cream and sugar into his own coffee. There was no hint that less than twenty minutes ago he’d been doing something illegal. Neil tried to channel that calm, but it didn’t come easily.

The only other people eating-in were too absorbed in their conversations to pay attention to the silence at Neil and Andrew’s table, but Neil covertly studied each group, analyzing threat levels. Other than a group of teenage boys in the corner who were trying very hard not to look conspicuous, no one appeared to be doing anything illicit.

Andrew polished off his burger and a portion of fries and shoved the tray aside. “It’s my turn,”

Neil went very still. “What?”

“I answered your questions about Aaron. You didn’t think you got those for free, did you?”

Neil stared at him. Nothing with Andrew was free, but in the middle of everything they’d been dealing with, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Andrew waited a beat to see if he’d respond, then bulled forward ruthlessly. “What happens if you’re caught?”

“No,” Neil said, “Not that,”

“You lost the right to refuse when you started prying into my business,”

“Not now,” he said, glancing around. They weren’t sitting particularly close to anyone, but even one other person in the room was enough to make his skin crawl.

“So you have enough time to think up better lies?” Andrew asked, “Now,”

His fingers clenched and burning coffee splashed over his hands. He jumped, hissing in pain. The crushed coffee cup fell over onto the table and he grabbed it, not in time to stop half the cup spilling.

Andrew did nothing while Neil scrambled for some napkins to mop up the mess. A couple people glanced their way, but other than the cashier rolling her eyes, nobody reacted. He piled the sopping napkins on Andrew’s empty tray.

He fetched some more napkins and set about drying the last few smears of coffee. Andrew’s eyes burnt a hole in the top of his head, but he didn’t look up until there was nothing left to clean. Andrew waited, expression bored, but he didn’t turn away.

Neil chewed on the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. “If they catch me, I die,” He said, “That’s it,”

“Who is ‘they?’”

“My parents were part of the mob. My dad pissed off the wrong people and got himself killed, so my mom and I took his money and ran for it. His boss has been after the money ever since,”

“And your mother?”

“Dead,” Neil said flatly. “Are we done?”

Andrew shrugged. “Are we?”

Neil was about to snap back, when something caught the corner of his eye. His muscles tensed. “The cops are here,”

Andrew didn’t react immediately. “How many?”

“Two,” He said, “I don’t think they’re the same ones,”

Slowly, Andrew turned to face the room, casually enough that it wasn’t obvious to anyone but Neil. “I know one of them,” He said, “Let’s go,”

“They’re coming towards the door,”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched in what could’ve been a scowl before he smoothed it away.

“The bathroom,” Neil said quickly, “There might be another exit,”

Andrew nodded and stood up, keeping his back to the door and leading the way. Neil followed, trying to mimic Andrew’s unhurried pace. They passed into a corridor with only two doors, one of which was labelled STAFF ONLY.

Andrew swung open the second door, revealing a tiny washroom. There was barely enough space for the toilet, which faced directly onto the sink.

“There’s a window,” Andrew said, “Get in,”

“There’s no space,” Neil protested.

“They can see you through the door,”

Neil glanced over his shoulder and immediately flinched back. He could see both police officers clearly through the narrow window. He edged through the bathroom door and pressed himself against the sink so Andrew could squeeze in. He reached past Neil to close the door, his side pinned against Neil’s.

Neil held his breath until Andrew got the door shut and backed up a few inches. There wasn’t enough space for both of them to stand properly. Andrew shifted around the toilet, half kneeling on the seat to avoid brushing up against Neil. The sink dug into Neil’s back as he leaned back so Andrew could inspect the window beside him.

 Andrew flipped out his knife and slipped it under the seal that fused the latch to the windowsill. His elbow kept jabbing into Neil’s stomach, but he said nothing, just pressed himself into the non-existent space between the sink and the door.

A splitting noise echoed in the tiny room and Andrew snapped his knife closed, tugging the window upwards.

“Anyone out there?” Neil whispered.

“No,” Andrew said.

Andrew stepped onto the toilet lid, which creaked in complaint, and stepped through the window. He slid halfway out, his biceps bulging as he took all of his weight on his arms. His shirt rode up as he lowered further, questing for the ground with his feet.

He twisted to pull one arm through, and swore. His shoulder was jammed against the window frame. If he could move just an inch or two to the left, he’d be fine. Neil reached out to push his arm, but Andrew jerked at the touch. “Don’t,” He warned.

Neil stopped, hand still outstretched. “If you move over just there,” He pointed. The muscles in Andrew’s jaw jumped as he flexed, pressing against the frame. He let out a low growl, then with a jerk, broke free and slid out the window. He hit the ground with a thump.

Neil followed suit a second later, his narrow shoulders making it much easier. He pulled the window closed behind him and followed Andrew down the back lane. “How do you know that cop?” He asked.

“Do you really want to play another round?” Andrew asked.

“Why? What do you want to know?”

“Where your gun is, to start with,”

Neil stared at the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets guiltily. “I took it to a lady upstate to get it checked against the national database. There were no bullet casings flagged, but I got her to liquidate it anyway.”

Andrew glanced at him sharply. “And?”

“And what?”

“You’re lying about something. What else did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Neil said, “I…was going to get her to run a background check on you. To find out what you went away for,”

Andrew came to a grinding halt, his expression unreadable. “But you didn’t,” He said. “Why not?”

Neil shrugged uncomfortably. “You trusted me without knowing who I am,”

“I didn’t trust you. I broke into your locker and followed you home,”

“You told me about your mother. You didn’t have to tell me the truth, but you did anyway,”

“You could never take it to the cops,”

“Why do you want so badly for me not to trust you?” Neil snapped, “You told me to stay, and I stayed. I’m not going to question that,”

“Then you’re stupid,” Andrew replied.

“Am I? You got me this far. You probably saved my life,”

“Stupid,” Andrew echoed, turning away and setting off down the lane. Neil’s stomach turned with questions, but he knew better than to press Andrew.

They walked a few more blocks in silence before Andrew finally spoke. “The pig in McDonalds was the one that brought Aaron home after he got picked up here. She’s pals with my parole officer,”

“You think she’d remember you?”

“She’d remember me,” Andrew said flatly.

“Right,” Neil said. “Why are there so many cops around?”

“It’s a shitty neighbourhood. And you’ve got the worst luck in the entire world,”

“Sounds about right,” Neil muttered.

He checked his watch. Half an hour since they’d fled the park. “Do you think it’s safe to go back yet?”

“Paramedics should’ve arrived by now,” Andrew grunted, “We could start circling back,”

Neil nodded and they started a meandering path back towards the park. No sirens split the air, ambulance or otherwise. The light was starting to go dim, the streetlights flickering on one by one. A few cars cruised by, but nobody looked twice at them.

When they reached the car, there was no sign of either the junkie or the cops. “Finally,” Neil said, “Something goes right,”

Andrew leaned over the windshield, plucking a small piece of paper out from under the wipers. “Not everything,”

He tossed the paper towards Neil, but it wafted away and Neil had to chase it halfway across the parking lot. Anxiety twisted in his throat until he finished reading it. “A parking ticket?” He asked incredulously.

“You owe me forty dollars,” Andrew said drily, getting into the driver’s seat. Neil clutched the ticket in his hand, fighting back the sudden urge to laugh. After everything that had happened, the sheer normalcy of a parking ticket was absurd to the point of hysteria.

He shook his head and returned to the car, settling into the passenger seat. He dropped the ticket in the centre console and leaned forward to rifle through his duffel. Everything was just as he’d left it, but he was still bent over when Andrew shifted into reverse.

His head smacked against the dashboard. He shot a scowl up at Andrew, and zipped his duffel up again before sitting upright. Andrew wasn’t paying any attention to him. He’d pulled out his phone and had it pressed to his ear, waiting while it rang. 

“I’m calling in that favour,” He said without preamble, “I need you to make a call,”

He paused while the person on the other side replied. “Yes,” He said, “Yes. I’ll text you the number and what you need to say.”

He snapped the phone closed and dropped it on top of the parking ticket. Neil waited for an explanation, but of course Andrew said nothing.

He swallowed the question and faced forward. Between the two rounds of their little truth game, Neil was pretty sure the score was two-nil today. Andrew had gotten a lot more honesty out of Neil than he’d got in return.

He didn’t resent it though. He owed Andrew a lot more than just forty dollars. The smell of the homeless man still permeated the car, despite Andrew cracking open the windows. They pulled in next to a random garbage bin and dumped the blanket, which helped, but the foul odor lingered.

The car continued to weave through the traffic, and the adrenaline drained from Neil’s bones, leaving him heavy and exhausted. He rested his head against the seat, his eyelids flickering shut. The lights outside smeared into reds and yellows.

Half an hour later they glided to a stop. Neil blinked his eyes open, staring around at a boring suburban neighbourhood. “Where are we?”

“Home,” Andrew said, getting out of the car and sitting on the hood, typing on his phone.

Neil maneuvered creakily out of the passenger seat and turned to stare at the quiet street. The houses were old, but not ramshackle. They stood in the driveway of an unassuming white house, lights glowing in the upper windows.

“I have to get back,” Neil said finally, tugging his duffel out of the foot well.

“You’re not going back to that place,” Andrew replied, “You can stay here tonight,”

“What?” Neil shook his head, “No. I can’t,”

“Where are you going to go? You have nothing,”

“I’ll figure it out,” Neil hedged, edging away down the drive. Andrew snapped his phone closed and folded his arms, his bored stare pinning Neil in place.

“They won’t ask,” Andrew said, “If I tell them not to,”

“I…” Neil stumbled over his words. If his father’s men caught his scent and followed it back to Andrew, he’d never forgive himself. “I can’t.”

“One night won’t kill you,”

Neil backed away and Andrew followed, grabbing his wrist before he could bolt. He tried to twist into a wristlock, but Andrew anticipated the move. Neil stopped pulling, knowing it was useless, and set his jaw.

“I’m not staying,” He said stubbornly.

Andrew stared at him for a long moment, then released his wrist. “Don’t move,”

He turned and strode up the driveway. Neil watched him go, uncertain. He disappeared into the house for barely a second.

“In case you change your mind,” Andrew said, holding up a single key.

Neil stared at him as if he was a hallucination. Andrew tired of waiting and grabbed his wrist, planting the key in his palm. His fingers closed around it instinctively.

Andrew headed inside without a second glance. Neil stared at the house, clutching the key in his fist so hard it cut into his skin. Lights turned on and off upstairs until only one was left.

He turned and walked down the drive, legs unsteady beneath him. A park bench had never looked less tempting, when he knew there was a warm couch somewhere behind him. It wasn’t the first night he’d slept rough, but the key in his hand felt as heavy as an anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if i missed anything that should be tagged so i can add it!
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil tries to deal with his overprotective boyfriend while concussed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres some sexual stuff in the first part of this chapter (dont get your hopes up) so if thats not your jam skip to the first scene break. very brief allusions to assault as well. 
> 
> i reserve the right to arbitrarily use other perspectives for storytelling purposes

Andrew dragged his hands down Neil’s bare back, over the knife edges of his shoulder blades, breathing heavily against his swollen lips. His fingers slid up Neil’s sides, feeling the hard, undulating lines of a ribcage that stuck out just a little too much.

Lust sent fiery shivers through his gut, but for the moment he didn’t deal with it. He pressed his mouth hungrily against Neil’s sweaty throat and felt a low moan against his lips. He bit down and moved up to pull him into a heavy kiss. Neil made a small noise in his throat, and Andrew sucked Neil’s tongue into his mouth and reached down between his legs to rub at his hardening erection.

A pounding at the door startled his eyes opened. He jerked his head around, and the water from the showerhead sprayed into his eyes. “Don’t use all the hot water,” Nicky called through the door, “Some of us still need to shower this morning.”

Andrew grit his teeth, then buried his annoyance and said loudly, “Go away.”

“What, are you jacking off in there?”

Andrew considered saying yes, just to listen to Nicky splutter, but decided against it. “We all have to use that shower, Andrew! Don’t get it too messy!” Nicky chuckled, and Andrew sensed rather than heard his disappearing footsteps. He glanced down at himself, still frozen with one hand around his dick.

The image of Neil’s face bloomed in his mind without prompting. Not naked and lusty and pretend, like before, but Neil’s face from two days ago, halfway down in the quicksand of a panic attack. Staring up at Andrew like he held the only rope that could save him.

He growled and forced the memory from his mind, jerking himself off with quick, hard strokes. His body tensed as the heat built, and a sharp ache cut into his temple. He grabbed his neck and pulled his head down, forcing his muscles to relax as his breathing went ragged.

Pleasure burned his thoughts clean as he came, grunting, into his hand. He gasped for a moment, dropping his hand from his neck to support himself against the wall.

_Neil fucking Josten._

He could feel phantom hands sliding down his back and he rinsed his hand off as quickly as he could and left the shower without looking back. He wrapped a towel around his waist and tugged his bands over his wet forearms like gauntlets.

Nicky was waiting just down the hallway, in the door to his own room. Andrew slid him a cool look. He took that as an invitation and sauntered towards him.

Even now, the sight of a man approaching him when he was half-dressed and vulnerable made him want to retreat. He stood his ground just to spite himself.

“By the way,” Nicky said, stopping in the bathroom doorway.  “Can I use the car today? I have a minor crisis involving a broken phone to deal with.”

As if Andrew hadn’t heard him whining all last night about being unable to call Erik. He weighed the request.

“No,” He said after a second, turning away and heading to his own room.

“Hey, Andrew, come on!” Nicky called plaintively after him. “Why not?”

“Take the bus.”

His closing door cut off the rest of Nicky’s protest. He had his own crisis on his hands. Neil was going to be back to school today, and if the scared rabbit look in his eyes Monday evening was anything to judge by, he was going to be halfway to making a run for it.

\---

Drums beat on the inside of Neil’s head as the math teacher droned on about factorials. The bruise on his head had swollen up to the size of a marble overnight, but he’d stubbornly returned to school two days after the fight with the vagrant. He was regretting it now.

“Hey, Neil,” Leona whispered, “You okay?”

Neil grunted in response. The numbers on his page refused to resolve into a solvable problem. He knew it was as simple as shifting a couple variables around, but the process wouldn’t coalesce in his mind. “Headache,” He muttered eventually.

A second later a manicured hand covered his. He jumped, but Leona just pressed a small pill bottle into his hand. He stared at it, then looked up so quickly it sent a pulse of pain through his temple. Leona was watching the teacher with a prim expression, pretending not to see Neil’s searching gaze.  

“Thanks,” He said when he remembered himself, and shook two ibuprofens into his hand before placing the bottle back on her desk. He swallowed them dry.

The fluorescent lights hummed at him. He tried again to watch the teacher, but his eyes kept slipping shut to spare his aching retinas.

He didn’t realize he was swaying until Leona’s hand shot out to catch him. “Neil!”

“M’ fine,” He mumbled, gripping the desk to steady himself.

“You are not fine!” She hissed, “Mrs. Walton! I think Neil needs to see the nurse.”

Mrs. Walton blinked owlishly up from the board. She was a tiny, round woman with a better head for numbers than people. Students joked that if there was an earthquake, she would probably keep on teaching straight through it.

“Neil? Oh yes,” She gestured vaguely to her head. He’d showed her—along with the receptionist and all his other teachers—the forged doctors note Andrew got to excuse him from class yesterday. “Best take care—yes. Escort him down, would you?”

Leona nodded agreement over Neil’s mumbled protest. She reached to grab his duffel for him, but he snatched it out of her reach and pulled it over his head.

With that effort, he had no energy left to fight when she dragged him out of class and ducked under his arm to help him through the hallway. Her body was pressed against his, her arm wrapped around his waist for support. The faint scent of her perfume made a sneeze itch at his nostrils.

“It’s okay,” He said, trying to pull away, “You can go back to class.”

“Will you really go to the nurse’s office if I do?”

“Yes.”

Leona rolled her eyes and readjusted her grip on him. For such a small person, her arms were surprisingly powerful. “That’s a no.”

“I will, I swear.”

“You don’t have to pull this masculine bullshit, you know.”

“I’m not…”

“Sure, whatever. You’re not impressing anyone, you know that, right?”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” He muttered.

“Then you won’t care if I carry you to the nurse’s office,” She said pertly. He grimaced, but allowed her to tow him down to the office without further argument.

She deposited him with the receptionist, who thanked her profusely. It was all Neil could do to keep his duffel clear as he passed from one set of arms to the next. They passed through another hallway in a blur, and the receptionist left him on a narrow bed in a small office.

He dug his fingers into the edge of the mattress to keep upright. Exhaustion compounded on his concussion to make him want nothing more than to slump over and hide his head under the pillow until it stopped hurting. He’d barely got a few hours sleep last night between shivering from cold in a park, and shivering from cold in a pedestrian underpass.

The nurse came bustling in a second later with the receptionist in tow. Ms. Hawthorne—the receptionist—had a photocopy of the doctor’s note in hand and was reading it aloud.

“Bike accident, huh?” The nurse said, “Wearing a helmet?”

“No ma’am,” Neil mumbled, trying to sound contrite.

“That’ll teach you. Had any painkillers today?”

“Leona gave me some ibuprofen five minutes ago,” He said, “I’ll be fine once it kicks in.”

“Hmm. I’ll be the judge. Thanks Judy, I’ll take it from here.”

“Sure. Oh, but if you need to call home, let me know. The number on file doesn’t work, but his mom called yesterday morning and left her cell number.”

Neil frowned in confusion, but wiped the expression from his face when the nurse turned back to him. He squinted at her nametag. “Uh, Miss Veeder—”

“Quiet now. You’ve got rings around your eyes like you’ve been in a fistfight. You need sleep and quiet. No shiny screens, understand? Not even to text your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” He muttered, but Ms. Veeder ignored him, patting over his head till she found the lump.

“You don’t play with head injuries,” She said, and continued lecturing him on recovery techniques, qualifying a few times that she couldn’t believe his doctor hadn’t conveyed the seriousness of it. He tuned most of it out.

“…your appetite’s probably going to be down for another week or so as well. I’m going to call your mom and get her to pick you up. No sense in just napping the day away in my office.”

“No,” Neil said before he could think. He cursed his imagination, normally so quick to dredge up plausible lies. “Uh, she’s busy. It’ll just make her worry.”

“And well she should! You’re making me dizzy just looking at you, swaying around like that. Lay down and I’ll turn the lights out so you can rest. Let me take your bag.”

Neil’s fingers clenched on the strap of his duffel. “No, thanks. Really, my mom probably won’t even pick up at this time of day.”

“I can’t hear you,” Ms. Veeder said, cupping her ears, “What’s that? You’ll take a nice nap and listen to my advice? What a good boy you are.”

She offered a grin and patted his arm. It took all he had not to wince. The bruise from where he’d deflected the junkie’s pipe was a black stripe on his forearm that ached all the way to the bone. By the time he’d recovered, she was already gone, the light switched off and the door clicking closed behind her.

He should try and dissuade her again, but gravity was already pulling him downward. He wedged his duffel into the corner of the bed and slumped onto the pillow, rolling over so his injured arm was off the mattress. Exhaustion dragged at his muscles, but sleep didn’t come. Another symptom of head injuries, he remembered vaguely.

The dim light that filtered in through the blinds was just enough to see the outline of the bare room. He tugged the thin blanket up over his shoulder and shivered. His stomach felt scoured out and his headache, thought much gentler than it had been in the bright classroom, still pulsed in his temple.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out Andrew’s key. He held it in front of his face and watched his skin bend and dimple as he ran his thumb along the teeth. The cool metal soaked up his body heat and in less than a minute it was warm against his fingers. He dropped it to the mattress, memorizing the feel of it by touch alone.

Eventually he heard a gentle tap on the door. Ms. Veeder leaned through the small crack, an apologetic smile on her face. “We called your mom, and she’s arranged for someone to give you a ride home after school. Are you okay with staying here for the afternoon?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, struggling to sit up, “I can go back to class.”

“Enjoy the break, Neil. You’ll be nose to the grindstone again next week.”

She closed the door and Neil flopped back onto the mattress. Confusion twisted in circles in his brain. Ms. Veeder’s words made less sense the more he turned them over. Who had they called? Who was coming to pick him up?

 Part of his mind wanted to panic. His father had found him. He’d had a woman call to pose as Mrs. Josten. Patrick DiMaccio was going to be at the school doors at 3pm, waiting to deliver Neil into his father’s waiting hands.

The rest of his mind nodded off to sleep.

\---

“Neil,” Ms. Veeder whispered, and Neil was instantly awake, grabbing for a weapon. He succeeded in whacking his hand against the wall hard enough to send a pulse of pain through the bruise on his forearm.

It took a second for him to recognize where he was. He’d somehow lost three hours, slipping in and out of a restless sleep. He felt scratchy and dry, his brain still sluggish.

“Your friend’s here to drive you home,” She said quietly, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Neil admitted, carefully pushing himself upright.

“Take tomorrow off, okay? I’ve written you a note. No exercise, no bright lights, and then maybe you can come back Friday.”

There was no point in arguing. “Yes ma’am.”

He wasn’t entirely surprised when he walked into reception, blinking sleep from his eyes, and saw Andrew leaning against the doorframe. He spared Neil a bored glance, then turned and walked away, trusting that Neil would follow.

“Thanks,” He said quickly to Ms. Veeder, and trailed after Andrew.

After the calm of the nurse’s room, the chaos of dismissal felt worse than usual. By the time they reached the front entrance, his brain felt like it was going to implode. His shouted name cut through the din like a sucker punch.

He turned just in time for Leona to squeeze up next to him. “Neil! How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “There you go again with your strongman act. Has anyone ever told you you’re an idiot?”

Neil glanced towards Andrew’s retreating back. “I slept all afternoon,” He said, because she expected a response.

“Good for you. Feel better, alright? I’ll lend you my notes when you get back.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a quick one-armed hug and disappeared into the crowd. Neil rubbed his forehead wearily. He’d have to deal with her eventually, but he didn’t know how to avoid her without making it obvious. He searched for Andrew and spotted him near the door, arms folded and expression stony while he waited for Neil to catch up.

Neither of them spoke until they were in the car. “Where’s Aaron?” Neil asked.

“Practice.”

“You don’t actually have to drive me anywhere. I’m fine. You can go to practice.”

Andrew ignored him and pulled out of his parking spot without checking if anyone was coming. An indignant mother honked her horn, but he swerved into the line up of cars and tapped his thumb impatiently against the wheel until they finally crawled out of the parking lot and into the road.

“Who did they call to end up with you, anyway?” Neil asked after a few minutes.

“Co-worker,” Andrew grunted. “She owed me.”

“That’s not safe,” Neil said, “They could track her number, follow her back to you.”

“If anyone asks, some kid paid her a hundred bucks to help him play hooky.”

“That’s,” Neil pressed his eyes closed, fishing in his slow brain for a response. “It’s still a trail. It’s still dangerous.”

“Too bad,” Andrew said, “You can’t take it back, so you may as well get used to it.”

“You don’t need to keep sticking your neck out for me.”

“And you don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way, yet here we are.”

“Why do you even care? Why does it matter so much to you that I stay?”

Andrew yanked the wheel so hard Neil hit the door as they veered onto a crossroad. “I don’t care.”

“Obviously you do.”

Andrew’s expression was calm, but his glance was scalding. “You made a promise. You will see it through.”

“You’re already better at fighting than I ever was.”

“You are not done yet.”

Neil scowled at his feet. If he was to pit himself against Andrew in a fight, he’d bet on Andrew every time, but there was no denying he knew more about the theory behind it. Andrew had picked up fighting because he had to; Neil had been deliberately taught it.

Ten minutes later Andrew parked up along a deserted road. Neil glanced around, and found he recognized the area as his own industrial district. Andrew got out of the car, and after a moment Neil followed. He didn’t know why Andrew had brought them here, but he figured he would come to the point eventually.

They walked in silence to Neil’s building and slipped inside. Andrew’s expression never changed, but his hand was in his pocket, fingering his knife.

There was no need. The building was as empty and musty as it had ever been. A thick coat of dust had already settled onto Neil’s nest. A long scuff mark and a few dark brown spots marred the open space of the sparring circle. Neil stared hard at them, like that could wipe them away and make the fight never have happened.

The crunch of rubble underfoot yanked his gaze away. Andrew had already crossed to the stairs and begun climbing. Neil’s muscles creaked in protest as he followed, thighs burning as he mounted the stairs slowly. By the time he reached the roof, Andrew already had two cigarettes out and lit. He passed one to Neil and sat down next to the edge.

Neil ghosted the cigarette under his nose and tried to draw strength from the memory of gasoline that followed. Andrew was sitting on the ledge next to the back alley, which was a small blessing. They were less likely to be seen there. He dropped his duffel and sat as close as he dared to the edge.

He toyed with his cigarette for a few more seconds before speaking. “There’s nothing in the news about it,” He said, “I spent an hour at the library looking.”

“Nobody cares what happens to a homeless addict.”

Neil propped his mouth on his hand, watching the smoke wreath his fingers. It was both a reassurance and an ugly truth. If not for the deal he’d made with Andrew, Neil would’ve been the homeless nobody, and nobody would’ve cared what happened to him either.  

A soft clink drew his attention back to Andrew. He had the small switchblade out again. He set it on the ground next to him and slid it towards Neil. The rough scrape made Neil flinch, hunkering lower over his cigarette.

“Take it.” Andrew said.

“I don’t need a weapon.”

Andrew slanted him a knowing look. Neil avoided eye contact. “I don’t want a weapon,” He amended. “If I did I would’ve kept the gun.”

“You never explained that.”

Neil glanced at him, perplexed. Andrew waved his hand in clarification. “I understand the how. What I fail to grasp is _why._ ”

Neil took a shallow drag on his cigarette to give him an excuse not to answer immediately. “I kept having nightmares,” He said finally, “About what could’ve happened when you broke into my building.”

“I don’t need your concern.”

“If my mom was alive, you’d be dead.”

“She’s not. It’s irrelevant.”

“I almost shot you. I could’ve. I…” He grimaced. There weren’t enough words to explain the fear that choked him when he thought of what could have happened that night. “My dad was always the monster, the one that loved killing, but mom could be brutal too. She didn’t care if innocents got caught in the crossfire as long as we made it out the other end. I don’t want to be like her either.”

He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. He’d already told Andrew too much. He’d skirted the truth so closely he’d accidentally tread on it.

“You’re not like either of them,” Andrew said, cutting out his thoughts. “You’re prey. But even prey can fight back when it’s threatened.”

“That’s not the point. If it was me or that junkie, I would pick me every time. If it was me, or an innocent bystander…” He paused, stomach twisting. If it was him, or Andrew, who would he choose? “I was taught to always pick me. Why is my life worth so much?”

“It’s not. There is no ‘worth.’ You decide if you want to live or die, and what you’re willing to sacrifice for it. Pay the price or give up and turn yourself in.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then simplify it.”

 “How?” He asked. Andrew didn’t disdain that with a reply. “I’m not taking the knife.”

“And I’m not asking. It’s yours.”

“I don’t need a knife,” Neil said flippantly, changing tacks. “I have you.”

Andrew’s fingers tightened on his cigarette and a flake of ash broke off and floated off the edge. “And who will protect you from me?”

“I don’t need to be protected from you.”

A growl ripped from Andrew’s throat and he moved too quickly to react. Neil hit his duffel with one shoulder as he was knocked backwards. His head swam as he hit the concrete, but the only thing he was aware of was the cool feeling of a blade against his throat.

He blinked up at Andrew. His hazel eyes were dark with anger. Provoking Andrew wasn’t a habit he meant to get into, but he needed to know how far Andrew’s promise went. _Keep your secrets_ to Neil had meant keeping silent. He was starting to realize just how shallow that interpretation was.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.” Andrew’s voice was low and furious, but Neil didn’t fight back. He let his hands fall slack to his sides, and felt Andrew tense up in response.

“You never hurt anyone without a reason. What would you gain by hurting me?”

“A little peace and quiet.” Andrew snarled, pressing the knife harder against Neil’s vein. His neck was stretched out and vulnerable, arched backwards against the concrete.

As the seconds ticked by, a voice whispered in his mind that he’d misread Andrew. He’d known him less than two months. There was no guarantee that Andrew wouldn’t cross the line, even if he’d never seen it happen before. He buried the thought viciously. If he couldn’t trust Andrew after Monday, he was dead anyway.

Andrew shoved him hard and sat up, his face smoothing back into indifference. “I hate you,” He said blandly, picking up his forgotten cigarette and determining that it was a lost cause. He tossed it over the edge and lit a new one.

“Not enough to kill me, apparently,” Neil said, sitting up at rubbing at his throat. There wasn’t even a mark.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Neil stared out at the horizon, unseeing. “I should go,” He said quietly, “It’s the smart thing to do.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you made a deal with me.”

“I didn’t realize how long the time commitment was going to be.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

Neil didn’t respond. He scoured the ground and finally found his crumpled cigarette. It wasn’t worth saving, but he picked it up just to have something to do with his hands.

“You’re not leaving.” Andrew said. It was almost a question.

“No.” Neil agreed. “But if it comes to it…I won’t put you at risk for me. If I have to go, I will.”

“Your concern is touching.” Andrew said tonelessly. Neil ignored the implied reprimand.

“I’ll tell you. If I’m leaving, I’ll tell you before I go.” He paused, and qualified, “If it’s safe.”

“You say that like you think I care.”

They sat in the midafternoon sun while Andrew smoked his cigarette down to the filter. Neil watched the smoke spiral up into the sky, feeling fuzzy and exhausted.

Eventually, Andrew stood and Neil followed mutely. Andrew left the building without a second glance, but Neil lingered to check on his nest and food stash. Everything was exactly how he left it. He wasn’t hungry, but he chewed his way through a granola bar because he hadn’t eaten anything before school.

He turned around and stared at the open room. Without Andrew there, filling up every corner, it felt vacant and hostile. There was no way to ignore what had happened here.

Andrew was gone before he got outside, but that was for the best. If he was still there, Neil might have been tempted by the couch. Two days sleeping rough was good persuasion.

He set off down the road. There was a truck in the neighbourhood that had been parked ever since he’d moved here. He’d break in and sleep there tonight.

\---

On Friday Neil returned to school for real. His head still ached from noise and bright lights, but he no longer felt like collapsing. After spending lunch in the quietest corner he could find, he headed to English and found Beth sitting in her usual spot at the back of the classroom.

“Look who’s back from the dead,” She teased. Neil scowled at her, which only made her laugh.

He slumped into his desk and faced forward. Beth leaned over to him, placing a small rectangular package on his desk. “Merry Christmas,” She said.

Neil tensed, shooting her a suspicious glance. “It’s November.”

“Just open it, Grumpy.”

He couldn’t bury a twisting feeling in his gut, but he carefully opened the cardboard box. Inside was a pair of shiny sunglasses, slightly scuffed from use.

“For your concussion,” She clarified. “Don’t make that face at me. I didn’t even spend any money on it. I wore those every day when I was concussed.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything.” A pit yawned in his stomach. It was a small, kind gesture, the sort he’d come to expect from Beth. It was also completely undeserved.

“Moron.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but knew it was pointless. Protesting a gift was instinctive, but would draw too much attention. It took some adjustments to make the sunglasses fit—his head was narrower than Beth’s, so he had to bend the whole frame inwards, but the lenses were so large that only thin slivers of light could slip around them. His whole body relaxed when he finally got them settled on the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t realized how tense all the bright lights were making him until he was safely behind dark lenses.

“How’d you get a concussion?” He asked, scanning the classroom. He probably looked absurd, but his eyes were too pleased with the change to care.

“Class is starting,” She said, too brightly, and he cut her another suspicious glance. She stared at the board and made no eye contact.

Mr. Piatt was winding up into full lecture mode at the front of class, but he couldn’t focus on the words, and not because of his concussion. Fear sank icy claws into his chest. What was he doing here? His very proximity put Beth at risk, and all she was guilty of was being thoughtful.

He told Andrew he would stay. It wouldn’t be his first lie, but for once he wanted it to be the truth. He wanted to stay here so badly he ached. Just this tiny taste of real life made him ravenous for more.

He couldn’t keep it.

But.

Beth spun her pen around her thumb, paying no attention to the silent meltdown happening at the next desk. He knew she had noticed that there was something wrong with him—she was too perceptive to miss it. But she never asked.

Class slipped away in wisps and fragments. As they gathered their books, Beth spoke again. “There’s no game tonight. Do you have any plans?”

Neil rubbed his forehead, letting his fears take the back burner to more immediate concerns. “I have to talk to Coach. I’m probably out for the season.”

“Do you want to go to the café after? I talked to my mom. She agreed to tone it down a little.”

He felt a dull blow to his already fractured heart. Was there anything Beth _hadn’t_ noticed? Telling her mother that Neil found her overwhelming must have been awkward.

It was a risk he shouldn’t take and a life he shouldn’t have.

“Sure,” He said, burying his mother’s voice so deep he couldn’t hear the echoes.

He didn’t have to stay forever. Christmas break was only a month away, and his deal with Andrew would surely be fulfilled by then. He could stay a little longer, savour this, and slip away unnoticed during the holidays.

Beth grinned and adjusted his glasses fondly. After a long moment, he managed to smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that got sappy im sorry guys.
> 
> anyways im gonna try real hard to get the next chapter up before the end of the month, but if i dont ive got no clue when the next update will be, im going on a big vacation and dont know how much time will be spent on writing/how much internet access ill get for the next month+
> 
> as always thanks for reading, and your comments light up my life. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew celebrates his birthday the way he celebrates most things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit violent but nothing graphic. Brief mentions of racial discrimination
> 
> Sorry if there's more typos than normal, writing on a tablet is the worst

“I thought I’d find you here,” Beth said, rounding the corner.

Neil blinked away from his cigarette, tilting his head against the brick wall to peer at Beth. Her arms were hugged tight around her purple sweater, and a thick scarf was wrapped around the lower half of her face. A few scant rays of sun caught her hair, but the sunrise hadn't quite reached the corner where Neil sat.

“Hey,” Neil said, confused.

"It's fucking freezing out here. How do you guys sit out here every morning?"

Neil glanced over at Andrew, perched on the electrical box where he could be found most mornings. He still hadn't acknowledged Beth's intrusion. "It's not so bad."

"At least you're predictable," she snorted, and added pointedly, “Hi, Andrew.”

It wasn’t enough to make him look at her, but her next words were. “Happy birthday.”

His flat gaze slid over to her, coldly daring her to go on. She reached calmly into her handbag and drew out a small plastic container. Inside was chocolate cupcake, the top thick with creamy icing.

She placed it on the electrical box next to him and turned back to Neil as if this was a perfectly normal Thursday. Andrew's baleful gaze drilled into the back of her head, but she pretended she wasn't aware.

"How's your noggin?" she asked, tapping her knuckle against the side of Neil’s head.

"Fine," Neil said, still distracted by Andrew's bizarre tension.

"Want to go over our project one last time before school?"

"Sure." He squashed his cigarette against the ground and used the wall to haul himself up. Andrew said nothing to either of them as they walked away.

"You reek," she added as they rounded the corner. Neil shot her a quick glance. "Smoking is a gross habit, Neil."

"I don't smoke," he said, dropping the cigarette butt in the garbage bin by the door.

Beth let out a sharp burst of laughter. "Fuck, Neil. You could say the sky is green with a straight face. Go ahead, say it."

"The sky is green," Neil said dutifully.

"You must rock at poker." She shook her head, snorting to herself.

Neil shrugged and changed the subject. "How did you know it's his birthday?"

"Hmm? Oh, all this week's birthdays are up on the bulletin board outside the office. Do you think writing Happy Birthday Asshole on the cupcake was too heavy-handed?"

Neil shrugged again. Beth poked the side of his head. "Come on, that was funny."

"Ha-ha," he deadpanned.

The peaceful start to the morning didn't last. A pop quiz first block set the pace and by lunch time a tinny whistle rang in Neil's ears and he donned Beth's sunglasses despite his resolution not to wear them indoors. She wasn't waiting at the usual table, but if he was honest with himself it was a relief. He had just put his head on the table to nap away the hour when disaster struck.

"Neil!" Beth crashed into the table, out of breath, and he jerked upwards in response, the urgency in her tone sending a spike of adrenaline through his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"Andrew's gone crazy, he's trying to kill someone."

He was out of his seat before he'd had time to process his actions. "Where?"

She grabbed his wrist and dragged him through the nearest door, her sweaty grip so tight it might bruise. Neil didn’t complain, too busy trying to catch his mind up to his body.

Getting involved would wreak havoc on his recovering anonymity, but Ms. Hurley's words after the last fight rang in his ears. One more incident might be enough to get Andrew expelled. He didn't know why Andrew would risk graduation to attack someone, but he knew there had to be a reason. He just didn't know if there was anything he could do with that knowledge.

Their feet slapped the ground as they raced through the half-empty hallways. A couple people shouted after them, but they ignored it.

Neil nearly ran into Beth as she came to an abrupt halt. He staggered, struggling to comprehend the scene before him.

Andrew had picked the perfect place for a confrontation. The dead-end of the mechanics hallway was isolated enough that Neil had arrived before any teachers got wind of it.

If anyone else had been around when Andrew went off, they had scattered to find help. The only other person in the hallway was Teia Byrne, the Exy teams other goalkeeper. She was crumpled at the base of the lockers with a red bruise blooming on her cheek.

A thin sob escaped from the girl Andrew had pinned against the lockers. Her shiny brown hair was misshapen, clinging to her neck. Her skin shone with sweat. She glanced over at Neil and Beth, eyes wide and horrified, before jerking her gaze back to Andrew and the knife pressed into her gut.

Andrew’s gaze snapped over to them, alerted by the girl’s glance. "Get out," he snarled, "This doesn't concern you."

Neil stepped forward slowly, careful not to appear threatening, not that it was likely to make any difference. "Go," he told Beth over his shoulder. The more people were involved the more likely someone would say the wrong thing.

The muscles in Beth's jaw jumped, but she grabbed Teia's arm and towed her away without argument. They probably had bare minutes before teachers arrived, but Neil had no idea what to say that could neutralise the murder shining in Andrew’s eyes.

"Whatever she did," Neil said, "You've made your point. Let her go."

"You don't know what she did."

"I didn't do anything," the girl pleaded, "I thought you were Aaron--"

"Shut up," Andrew growled, pinning her to wall with a forearm across her throat. Her eyes bulged as her airway was cut off. "You should have known to stay away from him."

An ugly suspicion rose in Neil's mind, but he kept his words neutral. "People will be here soon. You're going to be expelled."

Andrew's lip curled in an indifferent sneer. The girl's face was turning a vivid shade of red from lack of oxygen, and behind him he could hear approaching footsteps.

"Andrew," he began, but stopped. Andrew didn't care about the risk to himself. No law or rule was enough to kerb him. His promises were the only binding thing in his universe.

Urgent voices climbed in volume and Neil knew he had only one more chance. Switching to German, he said, " _You can't protect your brother if they send you to jail_."

The foreign words were enough to get Andrew's attention. Neil’s stomach twisted. He was gambling everything on this last ploy for attention, but it could backfire onto him just as easily.

Andrew's voice was cold, but he responded in German. "Interesting. Have I told you I hate surprises?"

"I'm still right."

"I hate you."

Neil levelled his gaze with Andrew's. A growl rumbled in his throat, and he shoved the girl aside without a second glance. She slipped to the floor, choking on her first gasp of air.

Neil didn't have time to check on her. Andrew had already swept past him, knife in hand. A teacher Neil didn’t recognize tried to stop him, but he shoved the man aside with one hand.

Andrew whipped around the corner and Neil barely kept pace. All he heard was Beth's sharp cry, cut off with a muffled thump.

The tip of Andrew’s knife dug into the soft skin under Beth's chin, tipping her head up.

"Andrew!"

Andrew ignored him. Beth's fists trembled at her sides, but she didn't take her eyes off of Andrew.

"Try to control me again," Andrew said in a low voice, his eyes burning into Beth's, "and you will regret it."

Neil couldn't process the whirlwind that followed. Andrew was yanked away, his knife confiscated. Neil put himself in front of Beth, a one man shield against the conflict. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

His hackles rose as people rushed through to help or just to gawk. He grabbed Beth's arm and dragged her away, not hearing the protests of a teacher.

He didn't know where he was going, only away. He hauled Beth down an empty hallway, oblivious to her stumbling. "Neil," Beth mumbled, " _Neil_."

She yanked heavily on his arm and he spun on his heels, ready for a fight.

She didn't give him a chance. Her arms caught him around the neck and squeezed his face against her shoulder. "It's okay, Neil, I'm okay. It's okay."

Her fingers stroked his hair clumsily as she repeated soothing platitudes in his ear. Neil stood numbly, hands dangling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he said as she pulled away, "He never would have done that if you weren't my..." the word friend caught on his tongue and died there.

"It's not your fault," she said, slumping against the locker, looking exhausted. "Besides, its hardly the first time someone's pointed a knife at me."

She actually managed a weak laugh at Neil’s startled expression. "We used to live in a pretty shitty neighbourhood, before the cafe took off, and I got mugged on the way home. Twice, actually."

She picked her way along the deserted hallway to a round table and eased herself into a chair. Her movements were fragile, tentative. Neil knew the feeling. Adrenaline burned at his bones, making him feel as paper thin as a flake of ash.

Beth held out her hands and laughed as they shook in the air before her. The sound was reedy and false. "First time I've had a knife pointed at me by someone I made a birthday cupcake for," she said wryly. " _Asshole_. Shit. Do you think he'll get expelled."

"I don't know." Neil didn't say that he wasn't sure which outcome he'd prefer. Conflicting loyalties tugged on him from both directions.

He glanced up and down the hallway and winced when he realized where he’d brought them. A broken emergency exit door stood twenty feet away, its red lettering declaring the blatant lie that it was alarmed. Without conscious decision his feet had taken him to an escape route he'd mapped out the first week of school.

"The old house was so great though," Beth said, rubbing her throat and staring absently at the wall. Neil fixed his eyes on her, uncertain why she'd spoken. She rambled on, apparently unaware of his gaze. "There was this freaky painting the guy who owned it before did on the ceiling of the bathroom, and I found a crawlspace above it where he kept all his supplies and reference images. Intense religious stuff. I used to hide in there whenever I was in trouble. Mom was scared I'd put my foot through the painting and fall through the roof. I think dad knew where I went, but he never told on me."

Her gaze was oddly vacant as she recited the story. "Our neighbours were really weird though. The second mom put enough money away we moved into the new apartment. It's nice. Haven't been mugged since, so I guess it's an improvement."

"Did they ever catch the guys who did it?"

Another shaky laugh. "You know how it is. Crime in a black neighbourhood? The cops spent more time lecturing me about walking home alone than searching for the guy. I'm rambling. Fuck."

"It's fine," Neil said, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"You're such an idiot," she murmured.

Neil checked the hallway again for eavesdroppers. His nerves were sparking as if it was his private life spilling out into the open. Seconds ticked into minutes as Beth shook free of her trance. Neil's pulse jumped when the bell rang a five minute warning, but neither of them moved to return to class.

"We should go to the office," Beth said, and when she turned back to him he was relieved to see her eyes were clear and focused.

The idea of going near the administration made his scalp prickle, but he nodded. They picked a careful path back through the school. A few people shot curious looks their way, but Neil warned them off with a blistering glare.

"Sorry about the confessional," Beth said when they were almost there. "Brain-to-mouth filter got shut down for a minute."

"It's fine. I won't tell anyone."

Beth barked out a laugh, a genuine one this time. "You're the only person in school who doesn't know."

Neil didn’t have time to question that before Ms. Hawthorne spotted them and they were rushed into the nurse's office. Neither of them were hurt, but Teia and the other girl had icepacks and the woozy expressions that came with shock.

Once Ms. Veeder was satisfied that they were physically unharmed, they were sent back out into the main reception to wait. Beth sat, but Neil was still too full of agitated energy to follow suit. He propped himself against the wall beside her and tried to keep his face blank.

"Neil Josten?" someone asked.

Neil tilted his head, glaring at the man in question. He was dressed formally in a collared shirt with a tie, uncharacteristic of the school staff, but Neil knew he worked in the office. "Yeah."

"The police would like to get your statement now."

Neil shifted again so he was facing away from him. "I have nothing to say to them." 

The man opened his mouth to set Neil straight, but before he could get a word out Neil’s face twisted into a scowl that would have made his father proud. He levelled the full weight of the Butcher's stare at the hapless administrator, and was viciously pleased when he faltered. He scurried away without another word, and the next person who approached had a uniform and the kind of bearing that expected to be obeyed.

"Josten," the cop said, folding her arms and glaring down at him with equal force. Her blonde hair was gelled back so tightly that it stretched her skin and make her look shiny and false. He flicked his eyes towards her, which she took as confirmation. "Bethany Mathley? Would you two rather give your statements here or in private?"

Beth shot a look at Neil, and when it became clear he wouldn’t answer spoke for them both. "Here is fine."

The cop ran through the standard questions, which Beth answered. She and Teia had been hanging out when they heard the girl--Amilah--cry out. Teia barged right in to try and split it up, and Beth ran for help.

Neil shifted to look at Beth, but she didn't make eye contact. The office was closer to the mechanics hallway than the cafeteria; it would've been faster to go fetch help that way. The cop didn't know that, so she didn't question it, but Neil noticed, and he wondered.

"Amilah says you spoke to Andrew in another language," the cop said, almost offhandedly, shooting a sly look at Neil. "What exactly did you say?"

It was Beth's turn to glance curiously at Neil. He chewed on the inside of his lip, considering whether or not to answer. "Does it make a difference?"

"Any detail could make a difference during sentencing."

"So you're planning to charge him."

"You don't think it's deserved?"

Neil shrugged noncommitally. Legally, yes. But he of all people knew there were situations the law didn't provide for. Andrew wasn’t likely to explain his motives to the police, and Neil knew better than to share Andrew’s promises. There was no point, when the police would never understand.

A door banging open distracted them all. Aaron came storming through the office, and he was halfway across the room before Neil realized he was coming for him. The cop reacted at the same time, clothes-lining Aaron with her arm and restraining him before he could reach them.

Aaron didn't seem to care. His face was a mottled and patchy red. "You," he snarled, "Why is it always you?"

Neil levelled a cool stare at him, but it was Beth who leapt to her feet, suddenly furious. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Neil just bailed your girlfriend out. You should be thanking him on bended fucking knee. What is _wrong_ with you?"

"This doesn't concern you," Aaron spat.

"Yeah, your brother said the exact same thing right before he _shoved a knife at my throat_. Is this a fucking game to you? You seduce them, Andrew cuts them to ribbons. So sorry to interrupt your _fun_."

Everyone in the office froze, staring at Beth. Aaron gaped, lost for words.

The cop broke the silence. "I'd say that's quite enough for one day," she said, steering Aaron away into a nearby office. Beth bit down on her anger viciously and sat down with a huff, folding her arms over her chest.

"You're welcome," she shot sideways at Neil.

"What was that about?"

"It's hardly the first time this has happened, is it? Nobody can prove it, but Aaron's last two girlfriends transferred and everyone thinks Andrew had something to do with it. Amilah wasn't here last year, otherwise she would've known better. Nobody else would touch Aaron with a ten foot pole."

Neil frowned. That didn't fit his assumptions on Andrew’s sudden attack. Protecting Aaron from women, yes, but protecting him from his own girlfriends?

He mulled it over, but didn't find any easy answers.

\---

Neil stepped into his abandoned building, too exhausted to bother finding somewhere else to sleep for the night. He headed straight for his nest.

A soft rustle nearly sent him out of his skin. He flinched back towards the door, and spotted Andrew sitting cross-legged in the sparring circle.

"Jumpy," Andrew said.

"You know why," Neil snapped, temper flaring. "Did you break out of jail?"

"They released me," Andrew replied, getting smoothly to his feet. "Pig Higgins fed them the usual bleeding-heart nonsense. Probation and community service."

He waved his hand dismissively and Neil instinctively filed the name away for later, but he didn't push just yet. He had a theory that needed proving.

”Why are you here?" he asked, grumpiness outweighing tact.

"It's Thursday."

"You haven't had enough of knives for one day?"

Andrew gazed back blandly. "They took my knife."

Neil studied his face, trying to find a sign that he was upset by the loss. If he was, it didn’t show.

"So we're playing pretend today? I thought that was beneath you."

This time his goading earned him a steely glare. He rolled his eyes and shrugged out of his duffel. He wanted to sleep, not fight, but co-operating was more likely to get him answers than bickering.

Andrew swiped a thin wedge off the ground in lieu of a blade. The tip was wide and sharp, serrated with potential slivers. Neil rolled his shoulders and stepped into the sparring circle, falling into a loose stance as he waited for Andrew’s attack.

A swipe from Andrew started the bout, and Neil swayed back so the flake of wood missed by an inch. He launched forwards, taking a swing at Andrew's ear.

Andrew deflected the punch, but it was only a distraction. He bulled into Andrew’s space, pinning his arm between them so he couldn't get a good angle with the flake. He leaned on him, trying to push him backwards while he fumbled to disarm him.

The weapon dropped between their feet as Andrew caught Neil's wrist in his palm. A pained gasp was all Neil managed before fire knifed up his shoulder and he crumpled to the ground, his arm twisted behind him. He slapped the ground twice, the cue to end the bout, but Andrew held his arm a second longer before releasing him with a shove.

"This time like you actually mean it."

Neil scowled and forced himself to his feet, massaging his aching shoulder. There was a twisted light in Andrew's eyes that set alarm bells ringing in his ears. He fell into a wary stance.

A soft scuff as Andrew adjusted his foot warned Neil of his attack, but he still wasn't fast enough. Andrew’s left fist drove into his solar plexus and his breath exploded out of him. He managed to block the second strike, muscle memory, but a moment later Andrew had his skull in a bruising grip, the point of the flake tickling the bridge of his nose.

"Again," Andrew said, stepping backwards.

Neil doubled over to catch his breath, flattening his hands against his stomach. He heard Andrew shift his weight impatiently, but he stayed like that, willing his shivering diaphragm to stop squeezing his lungs so tightly.

His insides settled slowly. He sucked in slow, deliberate breaths, fighting the elastic band tightening around his chest. Standing up again made his gut tremble and quake.

Andrew waited for his nod before launching forward. Blows struck in furious succession, and he didn't even try to attack. His world narrowed to the desperate struggle to block, dodging backwards and sideways to buy himself a gasp of air before the next onslaught.

They cut a wide crescent around the room. Andrew’s face was contorted in concentration and Neil's mind couldn't help note the startling intensity of it.

Andrew hurled the flake at Neil and it bounced harmlessly off his chest. "Fight me," he snarled.

Neil dropped his hands, sweat rolling off his forehead and setting the corners of his eyes on fire. "What's the point? You're already better than I ever was."

A growl ripped from Andrew’s chest and he shoved Neil backwards. Neil caught himself, but Andrew had already moved in to shove him again. He stumbled against the rubble lining the circle and kept his hands down, silently refusing to rise to the bait.

The fury simmering behind Andrew’s eyes snapped. Neil’s back hit the wall and Andrew kept coming, fist raised to knock his head loose. Neil pressed his eyes closed, waiting for the blow.

A thick crunch made him flinch, bits of soft shrapnel bouncing off his cheek. He blinked his eyes open and found Andrew’s fist buried in the drywall beside his head. Andrew’s nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, his chest swelling with the force of it.

He wrenched his fist free, jerking away. Neil raised his hand to brush the dust off his cheek. His fingers came away coated in thick grey powder.

A second thud drew his attention. Andrew's fist broke a hole in the wall easily, like wet newspaper. And then again, two more in quick succession.

"Andrew."

Andrew spun on his heel, glaring at Neil with enough force to drive a hurricane. Neil stared back, frowning slightly. Andrew shook with barely contained rage, but Neil couldn’t find the source.

Andrew broke eye contact, casting a quick glance around the room. He must have decided there was nothing there that would help, because he turned abruptly and vanished up the stairs, the echoes of his heavy footsteps fading as he climbed to the roof.

Neil let his breath out in a loud sigh, rubbing his new bruises. Gingerly, he made his way back to his nest and rummaged through the dusty mess of insulation. His first aid kit was buried near the floor. After a moments hesitation, he grabbed his math homework out of his duffel and impulsively tucked a box under his arm.

Up on the roof, Andrew sat in the usual spot, cigarette in hand. He didn’t react to Neil’s arrival, which meant he'd heard him coming up the ladder, clumsy with only one hand.

Neil dropped the first aid supplies next to Andrew, inspecting the bloody scrapes on his knuckles with a cursory glance and determining they wouldn't need anything fancier than what he had. He placed the box next to him and popped the lid off, then sat a few feet away, flipping open his math textbook and acting for all intents and purposes like he was alone on the roof.

For several minutes there was no reaction. Andrew lit one cigarette after another, the harsh sound of his inhalation the only sound other than Neil’s pen. His mind calmed as he worked logically through one problem after another.

A soft sound of disgust startled him out of his focus. Andrew held one of Neil’s cupcakes out in front of him distastefully, a single bite missing.

"It's carrot cake," Neil said, stifling his amusement. "Nice, right?

Andrew grunted disagreement and proceeded to make his way through Josephine’s latest batch, ripping off a piece of each and tasting them. Eventually he settled for a dark chocolate one that was more bitter than sweet.

He demolished two cupcakes before pushing the box away and starting in on the first aid supplies. Neil took it as a good sign that he'd taken initiative to care for his wounds. 

He didn't make a noise as he wiped antiseptic over his split skin, but Neil saw the corners of his eyes tighten at the sting. He opted to go without bandages, just rubbed some polysporin into the cuts and dropped the bloody wipes on the concrete.

He held onto the pack of cigarettes for a moment longer before pocketing it and returning to the box of cupcakes to methodically clean the icing off the remaining ones. Neil stared at his math homework, only half his attention on the page.

Finally, Andrew broke the silence. "Aaron's working on university applications."

The flat statement hung in the air like an admission. Neil watched Andrew lick his finger clean, his expression as bored and emotionless as always, but Neil felt a twist in his stomach.

"What about you?"

"What would be the point in that?"

Neil felt the flare of an old grudge. "I guess it doesn't matter. You'll get a scholarship anyway."

"Why would I want to keep playing Exy?"

"You could get a degree," Neil pointed out. "Isn't there something you want to do with your life?"

Andrew turned his head to study Neil with cold hazel eyes. "There's nothing I want."

Neil grit his teeth, unable to stomp down the thin stream of jealousy burning in his gut. "Why do you hate Exy so much?"

"It's not interesting enough to hate."

"Then what's so bad? It's fast-paced, violent, exciting. Even if you're in goal and don't get involved in the fighting, don't you get a thrill when it's the last second, and it's all down to you and the striker and the final buzzer and who's going to be the fastest."

"Why don't you play, if you're so obsessed?"

Neil winced and looked down. "I can't play. I'm better at running, anyway."

Rustling drew Neil’s eyes, but Andrew wasn’t looking at him anymore. "It's only a game."

"You could go pro. You could be somebody."

It sounded petulant to his own ears, and Andrew didn't miss a thing. "Is that what this is really about?" he challenged.

"No," Neil snapped, "You have a future. Why won't you take it?"

The words knocked something loose in his chest. Air caught in his lungs, burning him from the inside out. His jealousy couldn't burn bright enough to wash away the vision of his own future, bleak alleys spotted with arterial spray, a new name every month until his heart pumped itself out.

The idea that Andrew would fade away too, that neither of them would ever amount to anything, was intolerable.

"One of us has to make it," he whispered, his voice betraying him with its weakness.

"I didn't take you for an optimist." Andrew murmured, but there was no edge to his voice.

Neil pressed his forehead to his hand and took a shaky breath. He didn’t like the swamp of emotions he'd trampled through. It was easier to focus on the present. The future was too dismal to contemplate. Math seemed like the safest option, so he turned back to his last problem and stared at it for several minutes, unseeing.

"What did Aaron promise you?" he asked, when the silence became unbearable. Andrew tipped his head, so he continued. "You promised him protection, but your deals cut both ways. So what’s his end?"

Andrew chewed on his answer long enough that Neil suspected he wouldn’t at all. His attention drifted, watching a flock of pigeons warble and coo, bickering over a half eaten sandwich.

"That he would stay," Andrew said finally. His eyes were hooded and his stare fixed on the empty horizon. Neil watched the light catch in his blond hair, swept into his eyes by the wind. "No friends, no girlfriends. Just us."

Nothing in his tone admitted vulnerability, but Neil was stunned at the lopsided nature of the deal he'd struck. "Why?"

"I grew up in foster care. His mother couldn't 'handle' twins." The corner of his mouth curled in the beginning of a sneer. "We didn't even meet until I was out of juvie."

"Oh," Neil said. It felt hopelessly inadequate. He tried to picture a younger Andrew meeting his twin for the first time, scarred from foster care and juvie but somehow still reaching out to this family he'd never had. His earlier comment about university took on a new light. After so long trying to hang onto Aaron, watching him plan for the future--a future Andrew wasn’t part of...

He wondered if beneath Andrew’s apathy he could look at graduation with anything less than dread. No wonder he hated Aaron's girlfriend so much. No wonder he didn’t care enough about his own expulsion to relegate his attacks to the after school hours.

Andrew broke the silence, and his words weren't what Neil expected. "I could teach you to play Exy."

Neil froze, ice in his veins mixing with lightning. "In exchange for what?" he asked cautiously.

"You could think of something."

Neil stared at his profile, heart hammering in his chest. It was impossible. His mother had warned him to obsess from a distance, but his whole being leapt at the thought of playing again. To recapture one more second of the only bright thing he'd ever had.

"I have nothing to trade," he said, his sudden joy crumpling in his chest.

Andrew accepted that without argument. "Let me know if you come up with something."

"I will." Neil said, casting his gaze away so Andrew wouldn’t see the greed in his eyes. The pigeons had dispersed, the sandwich shredded and devoured.

The day was still too bright without his sunglasses, so he turned back to his last math problem and found the answer much easier to reach this time. He completed it and folded the page carefully, hiding the colourful notes Leona insisted he keep.

He set his textbook aside, but the silence was surprisingly comfortable. They sat there quietly as the sun sank towards the horizon, until the wind got icy and fierce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos, you rock <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the obligatory "high school party" scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for underage drinking, very brief mentions of abuse, and homophobic language because obviously no party neil josten attends will ever go smoothly

"Sweet, sweet freedom," Beth sighed, stretching her arms over her head as they walked through the cafe doors. Gene gave them a friendly wave from the counter. "You have any big Christmas plans?"

"No," Neil replied, scooping a sports magazine from the rack at the entrance and sitting in his usual spot, his back to the wall and sight lines to every exit. "Mom’s talking about going back to Maine for a bit."

"How long's 'a bit?'"

"Depends. Mom and Grandpa don't really get along so we might be back sooner than later."

His heart was in his throat as he told the lie. He knew exactly where he was going, and for how long. There was a motel at the edge of town that took cash and asked no questions, and a few weeks sleeping in a bed was almost like a vacation.

Stupid, his mind whispered. He should be planning a quick escape, the two-week holiday a perfect cover for his disappearance.

Things were just so…comfortable. The newspapers were clean and clear of any red flags. His evenings alternated between sparring with Andrew and eating at Josephine’s café. He didn’t have cross country anymore, but he broke into the changerooms at night to sleep and ran in the evenings when it was too cold to sit still.

Gene broke through his thoughts, placing a tray on the table. "Black coffee and a caramel latte," he said cheerfully, "You wanting your quiche today, Neil?"

Neil shook his head and Gene flashed him a smile. There was a genuine warmth to it that puddled in his stomach and went sour there. He wasn't supposed to be known.

Beth ordered and Gene retreated. Neil hid behind his magazine, flipping through it till he found the Exy section. Beth left him alone, burying her nose in a book. Another comfortable habit they'd acquired.

An article caught Neil’s eye and he made a rude noise without thinking.

"What?"

"Nothing," Neil said quickly, "Just a stupid theory."

"Must be good, if it caught your attention. Spill."

Neil frowned at the magazine. The article completely filled one page, a split comparison of statistics on the other. "Do you know the Raven's?"

"Only that they always win. Which honestly? Seems kinda tedious."

Neil shot her an irritated glance, but continued. "Two of their freshman players are court-ranked, already on the national team. Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day. Riko was named captain in his first year—his uncle is the coach, I don't know why anyone expected different. But Kevin got nothing. He's the second-best player in the game and he was passed over for vice-captain."

Beth stared at him, a faint smile on her lips. His cheeks heated and her smile grew. "What?"

"I just don’t think I've ever heard you say so many words at once. So, this journalist thinks Kevin Day should be vice-captain?"

"No," Neil said, hiding his embarrassment behind the magazine. "He thinks Kevin's secretly way better than Riko, but has to pretend not to be because Riko is the King."

"King?"

"Sport nickname. Anyway, this guy's argument is that Kevin is always exactly a step behind Riko. He always scores one less point in games. His stats are always a fraction below Riko, like it's by design or something."

"So, this guy has some grand conspiracy theory that Kevin is like, pulling his shots to spare Riko's ego?"

 "Something like that." Neil murmured, running his finger down the stats list. It was uncanny how close the numbers were, but Kevin surpassed Riko in only one category: assists.

Neil stared at the chart, wondering if it was so implausible. His mind jumped back, to a younger boy standing beside Riko and Kevin while his father took a man apart chunk by bloody chunk. He didn’t know where Kevin and Riko fit into the Wesninski circle, or if they were just innocent bystanders who had somehow managed to put that night behind them and reach the stars. He didn’t know enough to even speculate.

"Sports." Beth shook her head in amusement. Neil glanced around surreptitiously and tugged at the article, tearing it out inch by inch so as not to make too much noise. He folded it in half and tucked it in the pocket of his hoodie.

He thought he saw Beth raise an eyebrow, but she changed the subject. "Do you think you'll be back by New Year's?"

Neil shrugged. He wasn’t actually leaving, so it didn't matter.

"Teia's having a party New Year's Eve, you should come."

"Thanks," he said, "But I don't drink."

"More for the rest of us then. She's invited the whole Exy team, so you can fangirl over them too."

Neil glanced at her sideways. "Even Andrew?" he asked carefully.

"Ha! Nope, you'll be stuck with me for the evening. It'll be fun, though, really. Teia's parents are pretty chill, so it's not like we'll get busted or anything."

"Hmm."

"Your enthusiasm is inspiring."

"I'll think about it," Neil hedged, fidgeting with his folded-up article.

"That's all I ask for," she said, grinning. "If you end up coming, meet here like, five-ish, I think is when we close on New Year's."

"Okay."

That evening Neil went to the motel and booked a room for a week and a half. It was an exorbitant amount of money, compared to how frugally he'd lived in Columbia so far, but it hardly made a dent in his cash.

He dreamt of a warm body beside him, but when he woke up his mother's spot was empty and cold. He shivered and microwaved himself a hot chocolate, and stayed up all night watching cheesy Christmas movies on the tiny TV.

By morning he was lonely enough to decide to go to Teia's party.

\---

“You made it!” Beth said happily, popping up behind the counter. She was wearing an apron, but her hair was done up in some intricate braids. "How was Maine?"

"Cold," Neil replied. "Um, how was Christmas?"

"Awesome, I'll tell you all about it later. Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

She opened up the pastry case and pulled out half a chicken pot pie. "Eat this," she said, "We're just locking up, so it'll end up in the trash otherwise."

Neil didn't argue when she planted it in front of him. He'd long since given up fighting when she or Josephine forced free food on him. He ate quietly while Beth and Josephine shut down the machines and cleaned the room.

They walked to Teia's place together. As promised, she filled the walk with stories of Christmas break and the myriad aunties and uncles and cousins who had visited. She paused a couple times to let Neil fill in a story of his own, but continued on chattering about pies and custards when he offered nothing.

He was surprised what a relief it was to hear her voice, even though the stories themselves weren't that interesting. Being alone, like he had been over break, meant safety. Meant no collateral damage.

Being around Beth was like a warm blanket tossed casually over him on a cold winters day. He didn't know what expression was on his face, but Beth's smile went soft and quiet. She ruffled his hair wordlessly and steered them down a steep road bordered by dried out brown privacy hedges.

Teia's house hung back from the road, a wide, untrimmed lawn bordering the long driveway. Beth let them in the front door, motioning for Neil to take his shoes off.

"Anybody home?" Beth called.

"Just a sec!" Teia shouted. She appeared at the top of the stairs a minute later wearing a silken purple top embroidered in gold. She struck a pose, grinning, then spotted Neil standing behind Beth.

Her expression froze. Before she could say anything, though, a woman put her head through the kitchen door. "Bethany! Greg, come say hello. Bethany's here."

Footsteps boomed along the floor and a huge man rounded the corner. Easily six and a half feet tall, and built like an oak, his wide, welcoming grin sent Neil back a step.

"Hi Mr. Byrne!" Beth said, bright as a newly minted coin. "This is Neil, I told you about him?"

A shadow of doubt crossed Mr. Byrne's face for a moment before he smoothed it out. "So this is the lucky guy!"

Neil shot a confused glance at Beth. Her eyes were wide and pleading. "Um," he said, "Yeah."

Mr. Byrne guffawed loudly. His breath stank of beer. There was a wet stain on his rumpled football jersey, and Neil fixed his eyes on it so that Mr. Byrne wouldn't see the expression on his face.

"Put it here, young man." He held out a hand the size of a dinner plate and Neil had to step forward to shake it. His hand was completely engulfed. "Beth's a special gal, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

The woman popped out of the kitchen door. In direct contrast to her husband's sloppy clothing, she wore a sharp pale blue blouse, and jewellery dripped from her ears and neck in sparkling lines. "Greg, you have two minutes to make yourself look respectable or I'm leaving you behind. Teia, get down here and greet your guests."

Mr. Byrne grumbled good-naturedly and ambled up the stairs, passing a grudging Teia on her way down.

"Hello Mrs. Byrne," Beth said politely.

"It's Sita, I've told you that." The woman cast her disproving gaze on Neil and he struggled not to melt into the furniture. "Neil? Well, keep things tame tonight, you hear me? We'll just be down the street. Call if things get out of hand."

"I know, mom," Teia grumbled. Mrs. Byrne straightened her daughter's shirt, her expression softening.

"Have fun tonight. Be safe."

"Yeah, yeah," Teia averted her gaze as her mother leaned over to kiss her cheek, but it didn't deter her.

Five painfully awkward minutes later, and Teia's parents disappeared out the door in a flurry of goodbyes. Beth let out a deep sigh when the door finally closed.

"Sorry to use you like that," she said to Neil, "I meant to warn you, but I totally blanked."

"Use me like what?"

“Oh my god, Neil.” Neil just stared at her, and she rubbed her face in embarrassment. "I told them we're dating. They were starting to get suspicious about—" she gestured between her and Teia as if that explained everything.

"Oh," Neil said. He still wasn't sure what she meant.

Teia folded her arms over her chest and Neil tried not to feel intimidated. She might have her mother's complexion, but that was where the resemblance ended. In build, she took after her towering father. The broad shoulders she used for goalkeeping would crush Neil like a gnat.

"Can we help set up?" Beth asked, prodding Teia, who ripped her baleful stare away from Neil reluctantly.

"Yeah, sure. The sound system's fucked, though, I'm gonna have to call someone to bring some speakers."

She led them downstairs to a large basement. A pool table stood in one corner, across from a minibar covered in bags of chips and large bottles of soda. An entertainment system and several worn couches filled the other half of the room.

"I'll go get some bowls and we can get the food set up," Teia said, retreating back up the stairs.

For want of anything else to do, Neil crouched beside the knot of cords extending from the speakers, inspecting them idly. Beth crossed to the minibar and started rooting around the bottles of alcohol hidden under it.

"Teia?" she called up the stairs, "You have any ingredients for punch?"

"Uh, yeah, there's stuff up here."

Beth headed upstairs. Neil carefully popped the back off the stereo, poking around in the control panel. He wasn’t particularly good with electronics, but his mother had taught him the basics of repairing everything from radios to car engines just in case it came in handy.

After a few minutes of prodding, he was pretty sure he knew what was wrong. A loose wire hung limply off the control panel, and when he wiggled it just right some of the display lights flickered on.

He unplugged it so he wouldn't shock himself and went upstairs to see if there was any electrical tape, but froze in the doorway.

"What are you so mad about?" Beth's exasperated voice floated down the hall.

"I just—why did you have to bring him?"

"He's not that bad."

"He's friends with that psycho. You have to admit there's something fucked up about that."

"Look, Andrew’s got issues but—"

"But nothing! He almost dislocated my jaw. He stuck a knife at your throat. I'm not fucking okay with that."

"Fine, whatever. I'm not a huge fan of Andrew either, but that's got nothing to do with Neil."

"Who people hang out with says a lot about them," Teia snapped.

 Neil slipped back down the stairs, his stomach twisted and queasy. Knowing why Teia disliked him was unsettling, but it was almost worse hearing Beth's staunch defence.

For the most part, he'd kept Beth and Andrew separate since the fight. It wasn't hard; Andrew’s community service kept him busy in the evenings, and he'd been temporarily suspended from the Exy team, so he hadn't been at the bake sale for a month. Beth maintained a good humour whenever Andrew was mentioned, but Neil had no illusions regarding her underlying unease. He didn’t know what would happen in a week when they were back at school. The Beavers had scraped a spot in state championships, despite Andrew’s absence, and he would be back on the team starting Monday.

He busied himself with the speaker to drown his anxious thoughts. A minute later, Teia and Beth came back down the stairs, a palpable tension between them. Beth gave Neil a bright grin, as if to make up for Teia's coldness.

"Um, Teia?" he asked. She scowled at him openly, but he kept his voice even. "Do you have any electrical tape?"

She glanced down at the open stereo set, clearly torn between the impulse to shut him out and curiosity at the disassembled stereo. "Yeah. It's in the garage."

She thumped up the stairs yet again. Beth sighed. "I'm sorry. She's just— "

"It's fine," Neil said, "I heard."

Surprise quickly gave way to resignation. "I'm sorry. It's not fair."

Neil shrugged. He didn’t particularly care if Teia liked him or not, but the obvious distress in Beth's face put a cold knot of guilt in his stomach.

"Here," Teia said, chucking the tape down the stairs. Neil caught it reflexively and busied himself with the wires while the girls started mixing drinks at the minibar.

When he was satisfied nothing would spark, he plugged it in and pressed the radio button. A soft crackle rustled in the speakers, but nothing else happened. He frowned and stared at the cords, checking that everything was properly connected. He couldn't see anything wrong, so he pressed the Seek button, hoping to find a signal.

A blast of music knocked him backwards. The speakers exploded with life, a thin cloud of dust puffing out around him. The ground rumbled beneath Neil as he fumbled for the volume dial.

"Sorry," he said, once he got the volume back under control, but Beth was whooping happily.

"What did you do?" she demanded, joining him beside the speaker and flipping through channels till she hit the top 40.

"It was just some worn out wires."

"You're a wizard," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to give him a squeeze. "Do you know how to mix drinks?"

"No."

"Good, I can teach you. Come here."

He followed Beth and kept his hands busy making whatever simple mixes she taught him. Teia stayed aloof, but he didn't mind.

An hour or so later, more people started to arrive. Neil perched on a stool behind the minibar and passed out drinks, trying to blend in. A few people pushed the couches back against the wall to start a dance floor.

Beth stayed with him for a while, but after several drinks he convinced her he was okay on his own and she joined the dancers. The music was cranked up and pounding at the back of his head, but so long as he stayed behind the bar people were content to ignore him. He made awkward small talk to fill the time and glanced over periodically to check on Beth.

A cooler or a rum-and-coke was enough to satisfy most people, but a few times he found himself stealing upstairs to find ingredients for some obscure mix. He dodged past the dance floor for the third time and was just headed up the stairs to see if he could scrounge up some milk when he ran into Aaron.

They both blinked in surprise. Neil gripped the railing hard. "What are you doing here?"

Aaron's expression tightened and his eyes darted across the room. Neil followed his gaze to where Amilah was sitting, surrounded by half a dozen people.

A swell of anger rose in his chest, but he stamped it down. "Whatever," he growled, pushing past Aaron.

He hadn’t got a few steps further when a hand closed on his arm, yanking him to a stop. He turned to glare at Aaron, but he didn't let go.

"Don't tell Andrew."

Neil twisted free of his grip. "If you can't tell him, maybe you shouldn't be here."

Aaron's eyes blazed, but he kept his voice low as he hissed, "That's none of your fucking business."

"Then don't ask me to lie for you."

Aaron looked sick with fury. Neil braced himself for a fight.

Someone below called Aaron's name. He jerked in surprise, twisting to look down the stairs to where Amilah stood, arms folded. Her expression was anything but friendly. "What do you want?" She snapped.

"I—Amilah," Aaron fumbled, his anger lost beneath a sudden uncertainty.

"I told you not to come here."

"Look, Amilah—"

Neil took advantage of Aaron's distraction and retreated to the kitchen. He pressed his forehead against the cool refrigerator door to catch his breath.

A soft brush against his ankles startled him. A small tabby cat wound its way around his feet, looking up and making a chirrupy meow when it caught Neil looking at it.

He bent down and scratched behind it's ears, huffing softly at his own jumpiness. The cat meowed plaintively and stretched up his leg, digging its claws into his jeans. He pried it off and tried to stroke it, but it trotted off into the hallway, clearly unimpressed with being removed from his leg.

Neil turned back to the fridge and found a half-full jug of milk. He brought it back downstairs and tucked it in the bar fridge when the girl who had demanded it was nowhere to be found.

Beth came stumbling behind the bar, her forehead shining with sweat and a dopey grin on her face. She draped herself over the other bar stool. "I'm exhausted," she announced, "Make me something fun."

Neil raised his eyebrows, taking in her glazed expression. He slid a bottle in front of her. "Try this one. It's called 'water.'"

Beth laughed so hard she nearly fell over. "You made a joke! I can't believe it! You made a joke!" She grabbed him in a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair with her other hand. He ducked free and she chuckled, wiping her eyes. "See. Parties aren't so bad, are they?"

"They're not the worst thing."

"That's the spirit." She cracked the bottle and took a swig, grimacing. "Ugh. So clean."

Neil felt the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a smile, but it died a moment later. Dylan leaned over the counter, leering down at them.

"Does your _boyfriend_ know you're here tonight, Neil?"

Neil stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Andrew," Dylan clarified. "Guess this house already has too many fags in it, huh?"

"Oh, fuck off," Beth muttered, "Nobody likes you."

"Sensitive, are we?"

Beth swayed, scowling at him blearily. "Back off," Neil said.

"It's alright," Dylan said snidely, leaning towards Beth, "I understand. Less likely to punched if you fuck girls, right?"

"You—" Beth pitched forward, teeth bared, but the alcohol made her clumsy. Neil caught her shoulders, holding her upright.

He shot Dylan a scalding glare. "What?" Dylan asked, his wide smile predatory and shark-like. "Don't tell me she didn't tell you about it. How her daddy—"

"You're just fucking starving for attention, aren't you?" Neil snapped, "Did your parents not love you enough, or were you just naturally a raging asshole?"

Dylan froze in his tracks. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just fuck off. I'm done with your shit."

"You think you're tough? You want a piece of me? Come and fight me. I fucking dare you. You won't get lucky like your psycho boyfriend."

Several nearby conversations stopped, eyes drawn to the raised voices. Neil met Dylan's gaze with cold disdain.

"You're a pathetic bully. You threw a tantrum when you were two years old and got what you want, and you still haven't stopped. Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't give a fuck what you want. "

Dylan snarled and lunged over the counter at Neil. He didn’t react fast enough. Dylan grabbed Neil's shirt with both hands and hauled him forward, trying to pull him over the bar. Neil scrabbled for purchase, his hand closing on a plastic bottle. He swung as hard as he could even as his feet left the floor.

The bottle ricocheted off Dylan's head, the cap bursting off as it bent and sprung out of Neil's hand, bouncing onto the ground like a rubber ball. Sprite sprayed across Dylan's face, droplets spraying across onto Neil.

It was enough to make Dylan splutter, losing grip on Neil. He fell back behind the bar, smacking his hip against the counter.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

Teia barrelled out of the crowd like a gladiator. Dylan didn't have time to so much as spit a curse at Neil before she shoved him backwards, away from the bar. "What the hell, Dylan?"

"This son of a bitch—"

"I don't give a fuck," Teia snapped, "Get the hell out."

"You're throwing me out? You think you can just throw me out?"

"I said, get the fuck out of my house."

Teia squared up in front of Dylan. All eyes were on them, even the dance floor grinding to a halt. Dylan had a couple inches on Teia, but her expression was vicious and her silk shirt did nothing to disguise the broad muscles in her shoulders.

Sweat beaded on Dylan’s forehead, mixing with the fizz of the soda. There was no way for him to leave now without losing face, but he clearly wasn’t willing to test Teia's wrath either.

"It's a shitty party anyway," a loud voice said, "Let's get out of this dump."

Dylan turned to see who his saviour was. Neil recognized the guy vaguely from the Exy team, but Dylan obviously knew him. He sneered in agreement. "Yeah, fuck this."

Teia followed them up the stairs to make sure they didn't wreck anything on their way out. Conversations bubbled up in their wake, furtive glances slowing giving way to nervous giggles.

Neil's heart hammered against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. The narrow basement walls squeezed on him from all sides, the singular exit a distant rectangle of light. His feet itched to bolt.

A small sound beside him broke his budding panic. He glanced over at Beth, but her stool was empty. She sat curled under the bar, her face contorted with angry tears.

"Beth?"

"The world is spinning," she mumbled.

Neil grabbed a water bottle from the counter and sat down next to her, passing it over. Her hands fumbled, clumsy and shuddering, until he took it back and opened it for her.

He pressed his head against the cupboard as she took a long swig, hiccupping slightly as she wiped her mouth. The instinct to run was still there, but at least down here, away from prying eyes, it was dampened a little. He just hoped everyone had the tact to leave them alone.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck. I hate him. If I could—" her expression twisted and her grip tightened on the water bottle so hard it spilled a little. She didn't notice.

"Um," Neil said, "I'm not—I mean. Um. Do you want to talk about it?"

Beth took another drink instead of answering. She stared down into the bottle in her hands, watching the shimmery reflections.

"Honestly? No. I just want to go back to having a good time."

"Okay."

"It's not how he made it sound, though. My dad's not—abusive, or anything. It's not like that."

"Okay," Neil said, hoping it was true.

"Hey," Teia said from beside the bar. Neil looked up, expecting hostility, but Teia was all gentleness. She sat down on Beth's other side and wrapped her arm around Beth's shoulders. "You okay?"

Beth leaned into the embrace. "I'm okay," she murmured. "Neil’s taking care of me."

"I see that," Teia said, forcing a smile and flicking the water bottle. "Do you want to go upstairs for a minute?"

"That would be nice."

"You want to come too?" Teia asked. It took Neil a second to realize she was talking to him. Her expression was careful, but Neil recognised a peace offering when he saw it.

For a moment, he was tempted. It was an easy out, and nobody would question why he'd left early. Beth tucked her head against Teia's shoulder, surrendering completely to her comforting arms, and a small stone of guilt settled in Neil’s gut.

"I'm fine. I'll just clean this up." He gestured vaguely behind him.

"Don't worry about it."

"It's fine."

Teia pursed her lips, and tugged Beth to her feet. Neil dragged himself up using the counter. He watched them cross the room, Beth still leaning heavily on Teia, then turned his attention to the mess.

His shirt was speckled with sticky droplets of soda, and the counter was likewise spotted. A few bottles had been knocked askew, but the worst of the damage was on the carpet where the bottle had burst.

Neil dug up some paper towel from under the bar. He attracted a few sidelong glances, but he stolidly ignored them.

He chucked the empty Sprite bottle and the wet paper towel in the garbage and jumped.

"Hey," Leona said, smiling widely. She stood right up against him, the faint scent of vodka on her breath twisting into nausea in Neil's stomach.

"Uh, hi."

"Need any help?"

Neil looked down at the damp carpet and shrugged uncertainly. "There's not much else to do."

"That was really good of you, standing up for Beth like that."

Neil shrugged again and swept his eyes across the crowd. Beth and Teia had reappeared, curled up knee to knee on the couch, murmuring to each other over mugs of hot chocolate.

"Aren't they just the sweetest?" Leona said, following his gaze.

Neil hummed something that could have been assent before sliding past Leona and sitting on his stool again. She helped herself to the second stool. "You decided on any New Year's resolutions yet?"

"Not really."

"I've got a few silly ones," Leona said, picking up a red plastic cup and sniffing it. "What's this?"

"Uh, vodka and orange juice."

"Want some?"

"I'm fine."

"What, did you slip something in it?" she teased, eyes sparkling.

"No," Neil replied, "I don't drink."

"Isn't there some saying about not trusting someone who won't sample their own products?"

Neil shrugged. Leona kept leaning towards him, her smile wide and friendly. "Uh, Leona—"

Before he could figure out the right words, the music ended in a storm of fizzes and pops. "Thirty seconds till the ball drops!" the radio host crowed.

"Quick, Neil, come on!"

Leona grabbed his sleeve and dragged him out from behind the bar. The dancing had come to a halt and everyone was crowding around a couple of seniors who held cheap bottles of champagne poised to explode.

"Fifteen seconds!"

At ten everyone joined in, so loud that Neil's ears rang with it. Leona raised her drink in the air, spilling a little on Neil when someone jostled them from behind.

"Four...three...two...ONE!"

Everyone cheered as the count hit zero, leaping and hugging exuberantly. Leona leaned in and pressed a gentle, shy kiss to Neil's lips. She blushed at her own boldness, a small smile hidden behind her hair, before slipping away to giggle and celebrate with her friends.

Neil backed out of the crowd. Nobody noticed as he disappeared up the staircase and out the front door.

He raised his hand to touch his mouth, staring out at the glowing sky. Home fireworks exploded in the distance, the sharp pops like gunfire. He could still taste Leona's fruity lip gloss.

He wiped the last traces away and set off down the sidewalk. He searched his mind, looking for a reaction, but he couldn't find one. The kiss felt like nothing at all.

He wondered if there was something wrong with him. He wondered if he cared.

The night swallowed his questions whole and left him with only silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you guys rock :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dylan seeks revenge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! two chapters in one week! and to everyone who said they like my oc's--like wtf? yall are fucking treasures. i love you. have some andreil love. 
> 
> warning for typical levels of violence and panic

Every vertebra in Neil's back cracked as he pushed himself up off the floor. He yawned widely and stretched his spine, thinking nostalgically of the motel room he'd vacated yesterday. The floor of the changeroom was sweat-soaked rubber, not much softer than the concrete beneath.

He leaned against the lockers for a moment, keeping an ear out for anyone coming into the changerooms while he popped his contacts in. He always slept out of sight of the door, close enough to the toilets that he could quickly jump up and plausibly appear to be using a stall. He blinked his contacts into place and stretched one more time.

He dug up a towel from his duffel and padded into the shower. His mind was pleasantly fogged with drowsiness and he lingered under the water longer than he usually allowed.

The spray wilted away and Neil scrubbed himself dry on the towel before wrapping it around his waist. He brushed water out of his eyes and stepped around the corner.

"What the _fuck_?"

Neil flinched back, smacking his shoulder against the wall. Dylan's revolted expression was fixed on Neil's ruined chest. He yanked his towel upwards, squeezing it around his body like it could wipe the scars from his skin.

He took two steps backward, but froze before he bolted. Dylan's friend stood in the doorway, his mouth open and contorted in disgust. Neil's duffel lay on the floor between them, the zipper open and his clothes scattered around it.

Neil's breath froze in his chest. His binder lay on the ground, half buried under a pile of textbooks. Cold air wafted over his bare shoulders, sending goose bumps along his arms.

His voice was gravelly with fear when he snarled, "What are you doing here?"

Dylan's friend winced, but the challenge made Dylan rally. He sneered, "God, you're fucking disgusting."

Neil grit his teeth. "Get out. Get the hell away from my stuff."

"Did your parents carve you up like that? No wonder you hide in here all the time."

“Dylan, we should go,” his friend mumbled, still staring shell-shocked at Neil. Neither of them paid him any mind.

"What the hell do you want?"

"To kick your scrawny ass," Dylan grinned. "But I'll settle for this."

His hands rose. In one was a fistful of clothing, dripping with something greasy and opalescent. In the other—

Neil lunged forward, heedless of the towel flapping around his legs. A small flame erupted in Dylan's hand and licked hungrily up the soaked fabric. Neil grabbed for Dylan's wrist, but the flaming shirt was already falling towards the pile of clothing.

An audible whoosh rushed through the room, the smell of gasoline bursting through Neil's nose. He changed directions, forgetting Dylan and diving towards his binder.

Dylan's boot hit his ribcage, knocking him into the lockers. He barely felt it. He scrambled for the rapidly growing fire, the flames racing through all his worldly possessions.

Dylan kicked him again and he gasped as pain speared through his stomach. He crumpled, only to have Dylan push him onto his side with his toe. His boot came to rest on his throat, pushing just hard enough to cut off his air.

"You should’ve known better than to fuck with me," Dylan hissed. Neil let go of the towel to grab Dylan's ankle.

"Dylan, we have to go!"

"Shut the fuck up," Dylan snarled, giving Neil one last parting kick. His whole body seized, curling into the fetal position as his side throbbed. Footsteps vanished into the rising crackle of sparks.

Smoke choked the air. His mother’s ghost rose in the scent of gasoline. Pure survival instinct drove him to his knees. Heat surged towards him like a wall, but his grasping fingers closed on the edge of his binder. He yanked it towards him, hissing in pain as the flames lapped eagerly at his fingers.

One corner of the binder was already caught, the cover melting and charring. He scrambled backwards, slapping the growing flame against the floor. His fingers spasmed as the fire burned the hair from his hand, and he dropped the binder involuntarily.

He grabbed his towel from where it had tangled around his legs and smothered the binder, coughing as smoke filled his lungs. The stench of melting rubber grew, but it was almost a relief after the poisonous memories of burning gasoline.

He staggered to his feet and wrapped the towel around his waist, clutching the binder to his chest. The cover was still hot against his skin.

He stared at the fiery remains of his duffel. His clothes were already collapsing, ash and melted polyester goo clumping on the floor. His textbooks went up in a great flare, making him wince backwards.

His breath heaved through his chest. _Gone_. All of it—he stumbled over his feet, casting about wildly. He couldn't leave like this—

The air thickened, the lockers shimmering in the haze. His muscles locked in place, too terrified to move. The rubber beneath his feet grew hot. The fire licked greedily up the wooden lockers, steadily growing, reaching towards Neil.

The fire alarm wailed, drowning out the roar of Neil's pulse. His thoughts were a scrambled mess and when Andrew appeared, shimmering in the haze of smoke, for a moment he was convinced it was a hallucination, born of his own desperation.

Andrew stopped for the barest moment, his eyes flicking from the pile of charred clothes to the towel to Neil's chest. He crossed the room in three steps, whipping his coat off in one smooth motion.

He shoved it into Neil's arms and he rocked backwards, staring at Andrew in full panic. The coat nearly dropped, Neil's arms squeezing tighter around his binder.

"Move," Andrew snarled, throwing the coat at Neil's face.

He flinched, catching it with his fingertips. "Andr—"

" _Move._ "

Neil snapped back into focus, fumbling the jacket over one shoulder without releasing his death grip on the binder. Andrew pulled his shirt up over his nose, hauling Neil towards the exit by his wrist. The smoke had grown so thick that they had to crouch to breath.

They burst into the hallway, gasping for air. Neil managed to get both arms into Andrew's coat, somehow, and he clutched it together to hide his bare chest, shaking too hard to use the zipper

"I can't—" He devolved into a fit of coughing. "Andrew, I can't go out like this."

Andrew was already moving, towing him towards the gymnasium. Neil didn’t struggle, too busy sucking in shallow breaths that scraped his smoke-laden lungs dry.

They dodged into the gym office, in disarray from the teachers’ hasty exit. Andrew shoved Neil towards the lost and found and took up post beside the door.

A glance was all Neil needed to be sure Andrew wouldn't look his way. He dug into the bin of sweat-stained clothes, coming up with a pair of sweatpants and some sneakers, two sizes too big. He changed quickly, the relief at being dressed almost dizzying. He shoved his binder into a plastic bag and hooked it over his wrist while he fumbled with the zipper of Andrew’s coat.

He fought with the coat long enough that Andrew turned around impatiently. When he saw the problem, he knocked Neil's hands aside and did it for him, his nimble fingers making quick work of it.

Neil hung onto his binder helplessly. Nothing in Andrew's expression suggested that he'd noticed the violent scars that covered his chest, but Neil knew he'd seen. The coat felt flimsy and transparent, his scars a neon display that he couldn't ignore.

"Andrew," he began, but Andrew cut him off.

"This way," he said, striding down the hallway. Out of the office, the alarm rang too loud for words, and Neil didn’t have any regardless.

They left through an emergency exit door on the opposite side of the gym. A teacher Neil didn’t recognize rounded the corner at the same time, followed by a gaggle of bored-looking students.

"This way to the evacuation point!" she said, and swept Neil and Andrew up in her wake. They followed mutely. The other students still chattered away, unaware of the very real fire chewing away at the changerooms through the gymnasium wall.

They gathered in the parking lot in a loose huddle. The buses containing most of the student body were just pulling up to the bus loop.

Someone cried out, pointing to the dark plume of smoke rising above the school, and suddenly the light mood condensed into something cold and anxious. Neil hugged the plastic bag and its precious contents to his chest, trying to breathe normally. Beside him, Andrew’s expression was bland, but Neil could see goose bumps on his neck from the cold air. His t-shirt and bands weren’t much protection against the frosty January morning.

His gaze drew Andrew’s attention. He turned slowly, like the air was thick and moving took too much effort. He studied Neil's expression for a moment before dismissing him. "Stop it."

Neil didn’t know what he meant, but he looked away anyway. He cast his eyes across the crowd and spotted Dylan and his friend lounging against a cement parking blockade. Dylan spotted him and grinned triumphantly.

A couple minutes later a fire truck came squealing into the parking lot, several firefighters dashing towards the densest part of the smoke. The principal took control, ordering teachers to assemble their first period classes and take attendance. The students who had been present in the school were herded to one side, kept separate.

Neil figured out why a moment later. A cop car parked crookedly behind the fire truck, two uniformed officers climbing out.

"Andrew," he said, "Give me your lighter."

Andrew flicked his eyes towards him. "I'm not a suspect," Neil hissed, "But if they recognize you—"

Andrew didn't need to hear any more. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, palming his cigarette and lighter and pressing them into Neil's hand, hidden between them. His fingers were dry where they grazed against Neil's skin.

"Do you have a knife?" Neil whispered.

"In the coat."

Neil nodded, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair and dislodging a faint whiff of smoke. He shifted from one foot to the other, wincing as the pads of his feet shot through with pain. As adrenaline drained from his bloodstream, every ache and pain grew louder and more demanding. The bruises where Dylan kicked him throbbed, burning just under his skin.

The police officers circled through the crowd of potential witnesses, asking rote questions and getting nowhere fast. Neil was close enough to hear Dylan's blithe answer. "Sorry, officer, I didn't see anything."

The closer they got to Neil and Andrew, the faster Neil's heart beat. By the time they were standing in front of him, his pulse was so loud in his ears that he almost missed the question.

"Where were you when the fire started?"

He jerked his head to meet the officer's gaze, and saw the moment his nostrils flared and his eyebrows tightened in suspicion. He fixed his eyes on the man’s name badge—Halloway—and answered as innocuously as he could.

"We were going to see my running coach," he said, gesturing between him and Andrew. "I smelled smoke and that's when the fire alarm went off."

"Did you see anyone else nearby?"

"No, sir."

The officer opened his mouth to push harder, but his partner interrupted. "Minyard, right?"

Andrew slid his bored gaze to him, then away again. "Where were you when the fire started?" the second officer asked.

Neil spoke when Andrew made no sign of responding. "He was with me.”

Neither officer appeared to notice. "Empty your pockets," Halloway demanded.

Andrew stared him down long enough that Neil was afraid he wouldn’t comply, but eventually he pulled his pockets out, revealing only lint.

"Turn around and put your hands on that car."

"Hey," Neil protested, "He didn’t do anything wrong."

"It's just a search," officer two snapped.

"You can't do that without probable cause."

"Minyard has a record."

"Not for arson."

"Get out of the way."

" _No,_ " Neil snarled, stepping in front of Andrew and shoving the officer backwards when he tried to step around him.

The man's face hardened and fear flared in Neil's chest belatedly. "Don't make me arrest you for assaulting an officer," he threatened.

Neil clenched his fists, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced back at Andrew. His fingers dug into his shoulder for a moment, heavy and grounding, then he pushed him out of the way.

Neil watched, boiling with helpless rage as the two officers spun Andrew around and pinned his hands against the cold roof of a frosty car. He was close enough to see the curl of a snarl on Andrew's face as they patted him down thoroughly, sparing nothing.

Andrew endured it silently until one of the officers peeled the waistband of his jeans back and started feeling around his hip for hidden weapons. He jerked away, grabbing the officers arm and twisting it off of his body. "No," he snarled.

The second officer caught Andrew's free arm, "Cool it," he warned, but Andrew yanked free, spinning into a defensive stance.

Months of sparring had attuned Neil to Andrew’s every cue, and he saw what was about to happen before the cops did. He darted forward, putting himself between them as Andrew's fist closed, ready to throw a punch.

"Andrew, stop," Neil said, holding his hands up, palms open. He didn't make a move to touch Andrew, but he caught his wrists anyway, shoving him back a step. Neil retreated, keeping his eyes locked on Andrew’s.

"Don't get in my way," he growled.

"It's okay," he said, focussing on the heat of Andrew's hands and not the two cops behind him. "Andrew. Look at me. They can't do anything to you."

Fury burned in Andrew's eyes. "I hate you," he hissed, his voice coarse as sandpaper.

"I know," Neil murmured, leaning towards Andrew without really thinking about it. He dropped one of Neil's wrists to grip his shoulder, keeping him at a distance, but not releasing him either.

The cops grumbled threats, but they took advantage of Neil's pacifying presence to finish their search. When they searched around his groin his grip on Neil's wrist tightened so hard his bones creaked.

"It's okay," he whispered.

Andrew's eyes blazed like liquid fire, but he didn't take his eyes off Neil for the eternal minute it took for the officers to finish their search. When they finally stood up from poking around Andrew's shoes, empty-handed, Neil glared at them over Andrew’s shoulder.

"Satisfied?" he spat poisonously.

"Your turn," the officer growled.

"No. You've got nothing. You had no right to search him and if you try I'll sue your asses to hell and back. Get the hell away from us."

It was an empty threat, but the cops didn’t know that.

"Gentlemen!"

Everyone turned, startled at the intrusion. Ms. Hurley strode imperiously towards them, her short heels clacking against the ground. "Is there a problem?"

"Just searching these two," Halloway jerked his thumb towards Neil and Andrew.

"Are they suspects?

"Well..." Before Ms. Hurley's intimidating countenance, the two officers looked startlingly like naughty schoolchildren.

"I'll thank you to stop harassing my students," she said coldly. "Until we know there was actually a crime, you will refrain from any criminal investigations."

"They were impeding a police investigation," the second officer protested, but it was clear they'd been beaten.

Andrew's fingers digging into his pulse point drew Neil’s attention back to him. He fixed his stare on Neil's face for a long moment. "That's enough," he said, and shoved Neil away. Neil flexed his blood-starved fingers, trying to ignore the obvious shake in Andrew's hands before he folded his arms across his chest and hid them from view.

"You boys alright?" Ms. Hurley asked.

"We're fine," Neil said, looking up at the police officers retreating backs. "I think I'd like to go home now."

Ms. Hurley levelled an assessing stare at him before nodding. "If there's anything you need, feel free to ask."

"Thanks," Neil said reflexively, turning to Andrew. "Do you have your car?"

After a beat, Andrew nodded and spun on his heel, making for the back of the parking lot. Neil followed him without a backwards glance.

"Keys," Andrew said. Neil rummaged through the pockets of Andrew's coat until he found them and dropped them in his waiting hand.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he collapsed into the passenger seat.

"Home," Andrew growled, throwing the car into gear and peeling out of the parking lot like he couldn't be clear fast enough. Neil grabbed the side of the door and hung on as Andrew whipped through the streets. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Neil stared at Andrew's profile through the entire drive. A muscle jumped in his jaw and Neil swallowed the urge to reach out, to try to calm him. He didn’t know where this rage was coming from, and it was too late to try to find out.

It was time to leave Columbia.

It felt like bare minutes before they pulled into the driveway at Andrew's house. Andrew got out, slamming the door behind him, and Neil followed more slowly. By the time he reached the door Andrew was already inside, disappearing up the stairs without a word.

Neil hovered in the entryway for a long moment before taking that final step through the door. He shut it behind him and checked his hands. The scent of smoke lingered, and he could almost see blood caked under his nails.

He stayed next to the door, staring around at the evidence of life all around him. Through to his right was a living room, complete with video game controllers and empty bags of chips scattered all over. A half-empty bottle of whisky sat on the coffee table. Straight ahead of him he could see a peek of the kitchen, a mound of unwashed dishes growing next to the sink. The sheer normalcy of it made Neil’s bones ache.

"Get up here."

Neil's gaze jumped. Andrew stood at the top of the stairs, a bundle of clothing and towels in his hands. Neil stared up at him blankly, and he sighed impatiently, dropping the bundle at the top of the stairs. He'd pulled on another jacket, perhaps needing more armour than just his bands after what happened in the parking lot.

He joined Neil at the bottom of the stairs. "Go shower," he said, "I'll sort this out."

"Andrew," Neil said, "There's no—there's no _sorting this out._ I have to go."

"Don't be stupid."

“I can’t stay. The media’s going to be all over this. I’ll be found.”

“I can handle it.”

"I threatened a police officer! And Dylan—"

"What about Dylan?"

"He saw my—my scars. And he set my stuff on fire. He's not going to just leave me alone."

"That's my problem, not yours."

Neil watched Andrew’s expression, hating himself for wanting to give in, to lean on Andrew. He pulled his gaze away and fumbled with his binder, sliding his fingers down the binding where he hid his lock picks.

He pulled Andrew’s key out and stared at it for a long moment before holding it out. "I'm sorry," he said.

“It’s yours,” Andrew said, “keep it.”

Neil held it out for a second longer before slowly folding it into his palm. “Thank you,” Neil said, words failing.

He felt like he was drowning. The past four months felt like a dream, like he’d finally clawed his way to the surface for one breath of air and now he was being dragged back into the depths. He drank in every detail of Andrew’s face like he was the last glimmer of light before the dark waters surrounded him, crushing the air out of his lungs.

Andrew’s hand closed on the back of his neck, his thumb digging into his artery. "Stop it," Andrew said.

Neil sagged into Andrew’s grip. He still felt shaken and off balance, but Andrew’s hand was an anchor, heavy with the promise of safety. Neil knew it was an illusion, but he caught the open zipper of Andrew’s coat and hung on, willing him to stay for just a minute longer.

“Stop it,” Andrew said, “You’re not leaving.”

“Andrew, I can’t,” he sucked in a deep breath, tasting gasoline. "I can’t stay," he whispered, the sound of his voice fracturing something deep inside him. Andrew was only a foot away, his face upturned to fix his cold gaze on Neil’s, but he might’ve been an ocean away. Walking away would be the hardest thing Neil had ever done.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

“I hate you,” Andrew said, and he crossed the ocean. His fingers dug into Neil’s skull as he lunged forward and crushed their lips together as if he was trying to bruise them.

Neil’s mouth fell open in shock and hot air flooded into his lungs. Andrew’s thumbs dug into his cheekbones and Neil’s mind emptied of everything except Andrew’s lips, hot and fierce against his own.

Just as abruptly Andrew tore free, and Neil swayed forward, still clinging to Andrew’s coat. Andrew knocked his hands aside and stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Neil fumbled for words. A hot flush spread down his body, setting his fingertips tingling.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Andrew growled, twitchy and directionless.

"I thought you hated me," Neil said.

"I do."

"But..." His thoughts stuck in place. "Andrew—"

"No."

Neil raised his hand to his lips. The brush of his fingers made a chill run down his spine, and he couldn’t repress a slight shiver

"You never said anything," he said.

"Why? There's no point." He shook his head. "I know better."

Andrew drew in a deep breath and went still, pulling the blank mask back down over his face. "Go clean up," he ordered. "Don't do anything rash."

Neil nodded dumbly and let Andrew pass him, careful not to brush against him. Andrew flipped open his phone and punched in a phone number, putting it to his ear as he left the house. The door thudded closed before Neil could hear anything more.

He dropped his hand, frozen in the dark entryway. His house key had fallen to the floor at some point, and he retrieved it, running his thumb over the familiar jagged teeth like he had dozens of times before.

He flipped it into his palm and closed his hand around it, squeezing hard enough that he could feel it cut into his skin. Then he kicked off his oversized shoes and limped up the stairs to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAPPENED FUCKING FINALLY OH MY GOD THIS TOOK WAY LONGER THAN I PLANNED
> 
> <3<3<3<3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath part 1

Neil sucked in a deep breath as he prodded the pads of his feet. Thick blisters had formed where the floor of the changeroom had scorched his feet. He hissed and punctured the last one with a safety pin he'd sanitized using Andrew’s lighter. It stung angrily as he drained it with a tissue.

He wrapped his foot in gauze and bandages that he'd found under the bathroom sink and pulled a pair of long black socks over top. The jeans Andrew had lent him were tighter than he would like, and a little short, but overall he looked fairly discreet.

He disposed of the wrappers in the garbage and stood up cautiously. The bandages cushioned his feet fairly well, but the freshly popped blisters still burned when he put his weight on them.

After one last glance in the mirror, he left the bathroom and went downstairs. He sat at the kitchen table and spread his resources out in front of him. The result was pitiful. 

His wallet had been eaten by the blaze, but he had a single spare Neil Josten ID from his binder. He had his lockpicks, Andrew's key, and the money and contacts hidden between the pages of his binder. A couple of the pages were charred on the edges, but the words were still mostly legible. He'd have to copy them out into a new folder.

He pressed his face into his hands and breathed slowly and deliberately. It wasn’t a complete disaster. The vast majority of his cash was intact. Everything else in his bag was cheap and replaceable by design.

His panic still lurked beneath the surface, but focussing on his next move was keeping it at bay for now. He dropped his hands and started sorting things into his pockets. He split three hundred dollars between various pockets—so he'd never have a suspicious amount in one place—shoved his ID and key in the pocket with Andrew's lighter and cigarettes, and his binder back into the plastic bag. He left Andrew’s knife on the counter.

Part of him whispered that he shouldn't be leaving the house without waiting for Andrew to get back, but the anxious energy rushing through his blood demanded movement. He locked the door behind him and took a deep breath of the crisp air. It tasted clean, but Neil could still smell smoke.

He checked the bus schedule he’d found in the kitchen again, then folded it and set off down the street to the nearest stop. He rested against the signpost and rubbed at his mouth idly.

The phantom sensation of Andrew's kiss caught him by surprise. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fluttered closed as embarrassed heat rose in his cheeks.

The bus pulled up before he could get too caught in the memory. He paid the bus driver and took a spot next to the door, trying and failing to put Andrew out of his mind.

The whine of the engine grated on his nerves. He pressed his forehead against the glass and let the vibration shake his thoughts loose. 

_ Don't slow down. _

His mother’s hand on the steering wheel, cigarette smoke wafting out of the open window. Ten-year-old Nathaniel turned in his seat to try and spot his house as they drove up the hill out of town. His mother turned his head forward with a sharp fingernail against his cheek.

_ Don't look back. _

The beach blazed with fire. Stray sparks caught against his skin. The heat drove him back step by step, but it wasn’t hot enough to burn away the frozen hollow in his chest. 

_ Trust no-one. _

Beth pushed a box of cupcakes across the table, her expression open and honest. Her hair tumbled into her eyes, free of its usual braids. The corners of her eyes crinkled gently with a smile. 

_ Be anyone but yourself. _

Hesitation. His finger on the trigger, Andrew’s eyes glinting in the darkness.  _ Kill him _ , his mother whispered.

_ And don't be anyone for too long.  _

Bile burned a hole in Neil's throat and he rang the bell, heedless of where he was. The seconds it took for the bus to lurch to the next stop lasted forever. He bolted off the bus, stumbling behind the nearest dumpster to vomit in the grass.

He hunched over, folding his arms over his stomach as he breathed raggedly. He retched twice more, coming up dry.

"Are you alright?"

Neil jerked his head, spotting a grandmotherly figure hovering a few feet away. He fixed his eyes on her clompy, floral boots and fished for a response.

"Motion-sick," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

"Motion-sick," he repeated, louder, "from the bus."

"You poor thing."

He dragged himself up the side of the dumpster, grimacing as his hand touched something soft and sticky. The lady rummaged through her bag, pulling out a half-size water bottle. "Rinse it out, that'll make you feel better."

"I'm fine."

"Nonsense," she admonished, "Just a quick rinse. I think I have some nausea medication in here as well, give me a moment."

She thrust the bottle into his hand and dug into her large, crocodilian bag. After a second, Neil hesitantly took a sip, swilling it around his mouth before turning away to spit the acid into the grass. The woman pressed a packet of tissues and half a blister pack of pills into his hand when he turned around.

He tried to give them back, but she swatted his hands aside brusquely. "Keep it! Lord knows I have too much in this bag anyway."

She waved him off and pattered away down the street, still muttering to herself. Neil held the small gifts, wanting to go after her but knowing his knees probably wouldn't hold out that long.

He limped over to the curb and sat down, placing the water and pills on the sidewalk beside him. He blew his nose, wiped his mouth, and downed the half of the water. He left the pills alone, his distrustful instincts too strong to accept that particular gift from a stranger, even one as apparently harmless as her.

He sipped the last of the water and took stock of his surroundings. It was a residential neighbourhood, but he could hear the rumblings of a highway just a few blocks away. So long as he stayed parallel to the highway, he’d eventually reach the area he was looking for.

It was another hour before he managed to hobble on tender feet all the way to a grubby thrift store lodged into the gap between a mechanic and an interior design firm. He ducked inside, avoiding the cashiers gaze, and wandered apparently aimlessly through the racks of clothing.

The first, most important thing he needed was a bag. He swallowed a knot of grief for his reliable old duffel and picked out a cheap backpack, dark grey with a red logo peeling off the front. For shoes he found a pair of ratty sneakers, a little too small, but once he had the bandages off they'd fit fine.

He rustled up a wallet as well and carried the items to the cash desk. The overweight old man working the till had nothing to say to Neil, and Neil had nothing to say in return. 

The door slammed closed behind him with a bang and he flinched. His ears felt bruised by every new sound. 

He scanned the area, but his paranoia picked up no threats. He sat on the ground and swapped the lost-and-found shoes for his new sneakers and packed his money and ID into the wallet. He abandoned the shoes in the donation bin and continued on his slow way.

The next shop he entered, a few blocks away, was a Goodwill. The cashier eyed him suspiciously, but he just wandered the racks of clothes, looking for a pair of pants to replace Andrew’s jeans. 

Andrew’s jeans. Neil pressed his eyes closed, unable to bury the memory of Andrew’s fierce kiss. His fists clenched on a pair of slacks, holding him upright. No-one had ever kissed him like that–like it was the last thing they might get the chance to do.

He breathed out slowly through his nose. He couldn’t–he couldn’t  _ be _ this for Andrew. He pressed his hand against his mouth and struggled to bury the rush of warmth in his stomach. 

“Shit,” he muttered, yanking a couple pairs of pants off the rack and heading for the fitting room.  _ Shit. _

He spent the entire afternoon like that, methodically working through all the second-hand stores in a three-mile radius, never buying enough at one place to raise any red flags. The illusion of control, flimsy though it was, slowly squished out the last of his panic.

His new shoes pinched his toes, aching after hours of walking. He slipped into a pharmacy and picked out a toothbrush, toothpaste and comb. 

He stalled in front of the hair dye aisle, running a hand through his hair. He needed to touch up his roots, but his contacts were the greater problem. The only pair he still had were the ones he was wearing, and they already itched from smoke. 

Of course, if he left now, he didn’t need contacts. He flinched away from the thought and grabbed a box of dye before heading to the cash register.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" the cashier said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

"That's the public school," Neil lied easily, "Catholic schools are still out till Wednesday."

"Lucky ducks," she muttered, handing him his bag. He nodded thank you and left through the automatic door, stuffing the toiletries into the front pocket of his pack. It was reassuringly full and heavy on his shoulders.

He stopped at the crosswalk, gazing out at the bus station, two storeys of giant glass windows swarming with local, statewide and international buses. From here, he could get anywhere on the continent, with enough planning.

The light went green but his feet remained glued to the sidewalk. The air in his lungs solidified, heavy as lead in his chest. Loud music pounded through the open window of a BMW.

Cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils and he turned, not sure if he was expecting his mother or Andrew. A woman stood a few feet away in an apron and hairnet, puffing away at a cigarette. She raised an eyebrow at Neil and he looked away, back at the busy station.

The smell of smoke tipped the balance. He jogged across the road as the light went yellow, ignoring the throb in his feet.

\---

Neil wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and knocked on the door before he could think better of it. Andrew’s car was parked behind him in the driveway, despite it being hours too early for school to be out. 

The door swung open and Neil's throat closed for a moment in something like relief. 

"Oh," he said, as Aaron settled against the doorframe, eyeing him suspiciously, "Is Andrew here?"

"What do you want?” 

Neil blinked at him in confusion. “I want to talk to Andrew.”

“You’re talking to him.”

Neil frowned. Doubt flickered for a moment, but before he could apologize he caught sight of Andrew at the top of the stairs, still wearing the leather jacket from earlier.

Aaron glanced over his shoulder, following Neil's gaze, and scowled when he spotted his brother. Andrew didn’t spare him a single glance as he padded down the stairs.

"Get out," he said sideways, pushing Aaron out of the way. He shot a venomous look at Neil and stomped up the stairs.

Andrew waited till he was out of earshot to speak. "Thought you'd finally run off."

"I said I wouldn't leave without telling you."

"You say that like I care," Andrew said, turning and heading down the hall to the kitchen. Neil followed him, sitting on a bar stool by the counter and propping his pack on his knees. He dug out the plastic bag containing Andrews loaned clothes and held it up in offer.

Andrew glanced at the bag briefly. Neil left it on the counter and dropped his pack on the floor. Andrew’s eyes followed the backpack, but he didn’t comment, just padded over to the fridge and pulled a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. Neil waited till he sat across from him, methodically digging into his ice cream, before asking a question that had been niggling at him all afternoon.

"How did you know where I was, this morning?"

"The same way Dylan did. You've been sleeping in the changeroom for months. Call it an educated guess."

"That doesn't explain how you knew I was in trouble."

Andrew licked his spoon and Neil's stomach did a funny little jump at the sight of his pink tongue swiping across the spoon. "You're always in trouble."

Neil huffed a little, looking away.

"They've cancelled school for the next two days."

"Yeah?" 

"Have you made a decision yet?"

Neil shook his head. 

"They're paying attention to you. If you leave now it'll raise a stink."

"No," Neil said, "I've got all the transfer papers saved on my email. I've threatened to leave before, nobody would be surprised." He held his hands up before Andrew could contest it. "I'm not saying I'm going to go. I'm just laying out the facts."

The silence that fell was cold and uncertain. Andrew's sharp eyes slid to the door, and he crossed the room to check behind it, before closing it and sealing them in.

Neil's heart rate jumped involuntarily, but Andrew stayed by the door, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Dylan is a drug dealer.”

“What?” 

“He used to sell to Aaron. He's been looking for an excuse to attack me since I got Aaron clean. When you insulted him, you made him look incompetent in front of people who were buying from him. He couldn't get to me, but you're an easier target.”

“I didn't know,” Neil whispered, his mind jumping to his reckless words at the New Years party. If he’d known…

Would he have done anything different? Dylan's cruel words, tossed like grenades at Beth in the hope that the shrapnel might wound Neil, echoed in his mind. “Fuck.”

“I'm taking my turn,” Andrew said.

Neil rubbed his hands up his arms, nodding, burying the urge to  _ run, hide, get away.  _ His scars throbbed softly. Another secret betrayed. 

“How did she die?”

“My mother?”

Andrew nodded. Neil heard the underlying question.  _ What am I up against?  _

“We were...we were spotted crossing the border from Canada.” Had it only been six months ago? It felt like a lifetime. “My father's boss caught up to us in Seattle. There must have been about ten of them, I think. Two that I knew and a bunch of henchmen. We fought, and escaped, but mom was injured. Internal bleeding. She parked on a beach in California and…”

He felt himself go distant, the numb horror of it giving him the strength to speak. He fixed his gaze on his hands, blind to the swirls and patterns in the countertop beneath them. “I tried to pull her out of the car, but the blood glued her to the seat. So I used all our extra gasoline and burnt the car with her in it. I buried her bones in the sand.”

He ventured a glance at Andrew's face and was startlingly relieved at the blank expression on his face. Pity might have broke him. That indifference though…

The anxiety that had chased him all day thawed a little. The weight of his secrets might have broken him, but they couldn't break Andrew.

“Give me two days,” Andrew said. “Get your head on straight. I'll deal with Dylan.”

“And if it's not enough?”

“Then go. You'll finally be someone else's problem.”

Tiredness weighted Neil’s muscles like sand. “Two days?”

Andrew nodded once. Neil exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

“I'll tell the others you're staying here.”

Neil opened his mouth to protest, but Andrew had already slipped out the door. He deflated, slumping against the counter and pressing his cheek against the cool surface. He couldn’t quite hear Andrew’s low voice from the next room, but he heard Nicky’s surprise loud and clear. 

He sat up again just in time for Nicky to amble, suspiciously casual into the kitchen. “Hey there!” Nicky said brightly, “I’m Nicky.”

He held out his hand for Neil to shake, which Neil ignored. “We’ve met.”

Nicky’s grin faltered. “Right, of course.”

Neil sighed internally and forced a pleasant expression through his exhaustion. “Nice to meet you again.”

“Ha. You too. Glad you guys patched things up, or whatever.”

“Yeah, or whatever. Um, Andrew said you lived in Germany?”

“He said that? Really?”

Neil shrugged. “I asked.”

“No kidding? Heard us jabbering away did you? Yeah, I lived in Germany, just came back last year to take care of these two tiny assholes. I’ve been helping them learn German, much thanks I get.”

He looked at Neil expectantly and Neil forced a strained huff of agreement. Nicky took that encouragement and ran with it. Considering his cousins, Neil assumed he must be used to carrying the bulk of the conversation. He tuned halfway out as Nicky waxed lyrical about Germany and his fiance, keeping just enough attention on the conversation to nod at the right moments. Nicky’s eyes were curious, but whatever Andrew had said kept his questions locked up.

“I’m going to order pizza, you okay with that?”

“Hm?”

“Pizza? Any preference?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those pineapple-on-pizza types. I don’t know if you can stay if you are.” Nicky’s eyes twinkled. 

“Um, no?”

Nicky laughed out loud at Neil’s expression. “I’ll go order. There’s probably some sheets upstairs we can put on the couch for you too…”

He didn’t stop talking even as he walked out of the room, gesturing to himself. Neil let out a huge breath of relief.

He could see Andrew’s shadow in the hall, disappearing into the living room after Nicky. After a few moments gathering his strength, he slipped out to join them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What he says: you say that like i care  
> What he means: i have been LOSING MY MIND for HOURS you didnt CALL you didnt LEAVE A NOTE you SHIFTLESS PIECE OF TRASH---
> 
> Okay but on a serious note, did we ever find out what Andrew's locker room system is? Does he shower with the rest of the guys? Obv at palmetto they have separate stalls but at away games is he comfortable being naked around other ppl? Does he take off his band's? Do literally all the guys _already know about andrews scars?_
> 
> This is important for reasons


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dylan gets his just deserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ask and you shall receive.
> 
> violence and drug use ahead, read with caution. or vengeance, whichever you prefer.

Andrew tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the only sign of his internal agitation. He’d been sitting like that for twenty minutes, mulling over every aspect of his plan and inspecting it for flaws. The empty playground beyond the parking lot creaked in the wind. In the distance he could hear the shouts of a soccer game, and the tiny forest between fields rustled with fallen leaves.

He tossed his phone up in the air once, and flipped it open when he caught it. He scrolled through his contacts till he found the right number, and pressed dial.

The ringer went off half a dozen times before it picked up. “What?”

“This is Andrew.”

“Yeah?” He could hear the smug grin on Dylan’s face. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to negotiate a ceasefire.”

The lie tasted sour on his tongue, but it was worth it, because Dylan’s voice was bright with arrogance when he replied. “Mark the fucking day. Andrew Minyard, never thought I’d hear you backing down.”

“Meet me at Lion’s parking lot.”

“When?”

“Now,” Andrew said and hung up. Dylan’s ego would ensure his arrival, and Andrew knew damn well that without school, 99% of the time Dylan could be found hanging around Lion’s skate park. He had only minutes to wait.

Dylan didn’t disappoint. He came jauntily out of the direction of the soccer field, a satisfied grin on his face. Andrew stared forward until he tapped against the window, then he jerked his head towards the passenger seat.

“Hey man,” Dylan said, leaning in through the passenger door. “Nice wheels.”

Andrew tilted his head to inspect Dylan as he folded his tall frame into the car and lounged in the passenger seat. His short curly hair was sweaty and rumpled from skateboarding. His eyes were gleeful. “So,” Dylan said, “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Andrew said, and plunged his knife into Dylan’s thigh.              

Dylan choked on a scream and Andrew surged forward, clapping a hand over his mouth and squeezing so hard he felt Dylan’s jaw pop. He leaned on the knife, drawing out a muffled whimper. “Make a sound,” he hissed, “and the next one goes into your stomach.”

Dylan nodded frantically, eyes boiling with tears of agony. Andrew shook him ruthlessly, and yanked the knife out. Dylan doubled over, clutching his leg. The power locks thunked closed and Andrew slammed the car into gear, keeping the knife in hand in case Dylan’s fighting instincts were stronger than he expected.

He slid to a halt several minutes later next to a large, blank concrete building, stopping the passenger door a few inches away from the open door. It was only two blocks away from the abandoned industrial complex Neil used to sleep in, and the area was convenient for all the reasons that had attracted Neil in the first place.

“Get out.”

Dylan glared up at him, his breath coming in choppy hisses. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You are a very small fish in a very large pond. And right now, you are completely out of your depth.”

“Are you threatening me?” Dylan growled, as vicious as a muzzled dog.

“I don’t make threats,” Andrew said coldly, “I make promises. You hurt someone who was under my protection. Now you will pay the price.”

He brought his fist down on Dylan’s bloody hands, feeling warm blood spurt against his skin. Dylan’s eyes bulged with pain, a strangled whine tearing from his throat. Andrew reached past him and opened the door, shoving Dylan out the other side. He crumpled onto the floor and Andrew crawled over him, locking the car and slamming the steel door behind them, trapping them together in the dark room.

“You’ll pay for this,” Dylan snarled, struggling to stand. His leg wouldn’t support his weight. He gripped the wall desperately and flinched when Andrew flicked on the glaring incandescent light.

Dylan swung at Andrew, but his leg gave out beneath him. Andrew caught his arm as he went down, twisting it up behind him and snapping a pair of handcuffs closed on his wrist in one smooth motion. He dragged Dylan’s struggling body across the room to the exposed piping on the far wall.

“Get off of me!”

“No,” Andrew said simply, and cuffed Dylan’s other hand to the piping. Dylan sagged into a seated position, his arms raised, bent, over his head.

Andrew scooped a nearly empty water bottle off the floor a few feet away and twisted the lid off. The water shimmered and sparkled, swirling in the bottom inch of the bottle. “What is that?” Dylan whimpered, staring at Andrew in undisguised terror. “No. Get it away from me.”

He squirmed away and Andrew shifted, a pillar of stone between Dylan and escape. “I’ll do anything,” Dylan begged. “You want drugs? I can get you drugs. No problem. Just don’t hurt me.”

Andrew leaned his knee against the stab wound and Dylan stiffened, his back arching, frozen with pain. His mouth gaped open in a wordless plea. Andrew poured the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth, pinching his nose so he couldn’t breathe.

Dylan spluttered and choked, but Andrew slammed his head back against the wall, squeezing his mouth shut and pinning him there. The stench of urine rose from between Dylan’s legs and Andrew’s mouth twisted in distaste.

He held him there until Dylan’s face went purple from asphyxiation and his throat jumped, finally giving into the instinct to swallow. He wiped his wet hand on Dylan’s jacket before drawing a roll of duct tape out of his pocket.

Dylan’s breathing was ragged, gulping down precious oxygen. Andrew didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He slapped a strip across Dylan’s mouth and held it down firmly against his sweaty skin. A high whistle came from his nose as he sucked air in desperately.

The whites of Dylan’s eyes flashed as Andrew peeled his eyelids back to inspect his pupils. “It should kick in after a few minutes. Try not to suffocate while I’m gone.”

He pushed himself to his feet and slipped back out the door into the car. He’d had the foresight to place a towel over the passenger seat, so he wiped his hands on it and tossed the bloody thing inside to dispose of later. His jeans were going to be a write-off too, he reflected. They were too dark to show a stain, but he wasn’t going to hang on to them with Dylan’s blood soaked into the knees.

He crawled over the steering console and wedged himself into the driver’s seat. The car would be a give-away if anyone suspected him of foul play, but he wasn’t rushed. It was going to take at least fifteen minutes for the drugs to kick in.

The streets wound by. Neil’s building passed in a faded wash, so grey and dull it hovered on the edge of perception. Neil was in there somewhere, but Andrew forcibly silenced the voice in his mind that whispered that he should check in on him.

He pulled up under the stark silhouette of a massive tree, trying hard not to think about Neil. About his perpetually chilly hands or the rough, chapped feeling of his lips. He’d kissed Neil unasked, unexpected. He knew what that felt like, dammit. If Neil had never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Returning to the empty house yesterday had been…sickening. And deserved.

He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, breathing slow and controlled. He knew it was a mistake. But after the pigs—his skin crawling and slimy with memories, but Neil’s eyes—his _goddamn_ eyes—huge and muddy brown and red around the edges and staring at Andrew like _that._

Neil’s face floated behind his eyelids, his mouth parted and eyes wide with shock. He ground his teeth together so hard a spike of pain went through his jaw.

It was bad enough he’d kissed Neil. What was worse was that for a second, he thought Neil had kissed him _back._

He shoved himself out of the seat before he could spiral too far. Neil was pretty, and dangerous, but most importantly, he was Andrew’s responsibility. So long as he was moving, he could keep the thoughts at bay.

\---

Over the next two hours he pumped Dylan for every scrap of blackmail material his scrambled brain could remember. His words were scattered and half-crazed, his eyes sparkling with dust. Four times he broke down into sobs. The blood on his leg crusted and scabbed over. A thin line of drool dried on his chin.

The slowing pattern of his breathing betrayed the point when he started to dry out. Andrew sat back against the wall, smoking a cigarette while Dylan came to, blinking rapidly. His lips smacked together with the familiar dry-as-sawdust aftertaste of dust.

His mouth moved, but no words came out. He swallowed harshly several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing in pain. “Wha…what did you do to me?”

“We had a little chat,” Andrew said, still puffing on his cigarette. “You were very helpful.”

Dylan quivered, shrinking against the wall. His bravado died hours ago. All that was left was this useless piece of jelly.

The cigarette hissed in a bit of mold when Andrew dropped it and crouched in front of Dylan. His pupils shrank rapidly when he yanked Dylan’s hair to force him to look up. “I am going to explain this only once, do you understand?”

Dylan nodded, then winced like his skull was throbbing. “Tomorrow morning, the cops will find the empty gasoline can in your locker at school. They will come to question you. You will confess to setting the fire. You will say you acted alone. Give whatever reason you want, I don’t care. This,” he tapped on Dylan’s bloody thigh, prompting a sharp whine, “won’t be part of the story. Play along, and that is as bad as it will get.”

“My bosses will protect me,” Dylan mumbled, a shadow of his old arrogance peeking through. “They won’t let me go to jail.”

“They will cut you loose like so much dead weight. You are not that valuable.”

“You’re wrong.”

Andrew studied Dylan for a moment. “You don’t even believe that yourself.”

Dylan’s face crumpled. “Please don’t do this.”

Loathing pooled in Andrew’s gut at the plea. “You used up your goodwill months ago. Now listen to me. If you mention Neil, or me, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, they _will_ find heroin in your locker. The heaviest charge you could get for arson is what, a few months? What do you think you’ll get for possession? You’ve been selling to minors. How do you think that will look in court?”

Dylan’s protests dried up. He quivered like a kicked puppy, staring at Andrew with eyes blurred by tears. His jaw wobbled, but he didn’t manage any words before Andrew got bored. He reached past Dylan’s head, ignoring his flinch, and unclipped the handcuffs. They were padded: no marks on his wrist to betray what happened today.

From the way Dylan’s face contorted as his arms dropped, there was soreness aplenty to make up for the lack of wounds on his wrist. Andrew watched him for a moment, then lit another cigarette.

“Just remember. You can seek revenge, and you might even get it. But it will always come back on you. And it will always be worse.

“That is a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shooooort chapter but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> and if anyone cares, the verdict on the shower issue, from a perusal of the extra content is:  
> -andrew isnt necessarily ashamed of his scars, but he knows they would be viewed as a sign of weakness so no he would not let anyone see them  
> -we dont exactly know how he hides them but he does  
> -abby and bee are the only ones other than neil who know about them


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil talks to basically everyone but andrew

“Aaron!” Nicky shouted, “Food’s here!”

“I heard,” Aaron groused, appearing in the living room door before Nicky’s voice had stopped echoing.

Nicky held up the bag of take-out. “Get it while it's hot,” he said brightly.

Aaron cast Neil a dark look. “Why is he still here?” he said, switching to German.

Neil froze, staring at Aaron. Nicky plucked a box out of the bag and pushed it into Aaron's hands. “Beats me. He's so jumpy a loud noise might scare him off.”

Neil hunched over, curling into the couch and pretending to ignore the conversation happening in German three feet away. He wasn't exactly surprised that Andrew hadn't told his family that Neil spoke German, but he'd expected the secret to get out with Amilah. Then again, from what he'd heard, Amilah and Aaron weren't on speaking terms at the moment.

“I don't like it. We have no clue who the hell he is or what he's hiding from.”

“My moneys on abusive parents,” Nicky said, smiling reassuringly at Neil. The duality of his words and his smile made Neil's stomach turn.

“I still don't like it.”

“Take it up with Andrew, then,” Nicky said, waving his hand extravagantly. Aaron huffed and stalked away without another word.

Neil accepted a box of Chinese takeaway from Nicky, watching Aaron's disappearing back. He’d mostly been able to avoid him so far—he'd spent yesterday at the old industrial park, and most of today at the library—but if this lasted much longer there was sure to be a confrontation coming.

He shook off those concerns and looked up at Nicky, who flopped beside him on the couch. “How much is my share?”

“Don't worry about it,” Nicky said through a mouthful of noodles. “You need it more than we do.”

“It's fine. I have money.”

Nicky raked a skeptical glance over Neil's faded thrift store outfit. “Forget it.”

“But—”

“Eat your noodles,” Nicky said, brandishing his fork at Neil. “Nope. Shut up. Do you see who I have to live with? I can out-stubborn you any day of the week.”

Neil doubted that, but this wasn't the argument to waste the bull-headed card on. He subsided, picking at his food without much of an appetite.

“How’s the couch, by the way?”

“It's fine.”

“You sure? It's like, a bazillion years old, so you can say it sucks. I've been looking for an excuse to replace it.”

Neil shrugged. “It's not that bad.”

“Liar,” Nicky said affably, stuffing more noodles in his mouth.

Neil looked back at his box and twisted some noodles around his fork again and again. Truthfully, the couch was lumpy, but not the worst place Neil had ever slept. It was more the sounds of life upstairs that had interrupted his sleep. Every shift or footstep startled him out of his hazy, nervous doze. Knowing that Andrew was less than a shout away in case of trouble was only a small reassurance.

“Wednesday's CSI night around here, hope you don't mind. I keep telling Andrew it's ridiculously hetero but he doesn't care.”

“CSI is fine.”

Nicky tilted his head mischievously. “Speaking of hetero…”

Neil shifted, immediately nervous. “What?”

“Oh, come on. Face like yours, you must have girls lined up out the door. That's why you're here, isn't it? Your three girlfriends found out about each other and now they're out for blood.”

Neil scowled at him. “What? Andrew said I couldn't ask, but he said nothing about guessing. Am I right?”

“I don't have a girlfriend,” Neil muttered, tucking his legs up and facing the TV. It didn't deter Nicky.

“More my style, huh? Oh, don't look so nervous. You're like fifteen, that's waaaay too young for me.”

“Seventeen.”

“Really? How interesting.”

Neil stared resolutely at the TV. “Come on Neil. One teeny question. You might as well tell me, it's the only way you'll get me to shut up.”

Neil ground his teeth. The actor on screen whipped off his sunglasses, slick as an oil spill. “I'm an expert in being a nuisance. Which way do you swing, Neil?”

“I don't,” Neil said bluntly.

“What?”

“I don't swing. Either way.”

“That's—”

Nicky cut off before he got any further, and a second later Andrew dropped heavily into the armchair beside Neil. Nicky’s smile went tight and anxious. Not so confident about his prying as he pretended, then.

Andrew tossed a newspaper in Neil's direction and helped himself to a box of Chinese from the coffee table. Neil caught it by reflex. “What's this?”

“A newspaper.”

Neil rolled his eyes and studied the paper. “Oh. Holy shit.”

“What?” Nicky asked, snatching it out of Neil's hands. “‘Local Teen Arrested in School Arson.’ Blah blah blah, allegations and shit… ‘Dylan Reaman was arrested early this morning after an anonymous tip led investigators to a can of gasoline in his locker.’ No shit! He's on your team, isn't he?”

“Not anymore,” Andrew said. “He confessed.”

“I always knew he was a fuckwit,” Nicky said, sounding faintly amused.

Neil said nothing, just retrieved the newspaper and read the whole article twice. His hands trembled a little as he read the words again and again. Arrested. Confessed.

He looked up from the paper, staring at Andrew. His hazel eyes remained fixed on the TV, watching the oily detective say something sly to the medical examiner.

Neil slowly folded the paper and left it on the coffee table. His heart was pounding like he'd just run a marathon, but there was nothing he could say with Nicky in the room.

“I’m going for a run,” he said abruptly, standing.

Nicky looked up in surprise. “It’s like, nine. Can’t it wait?”

“No.” Neil hesitated, then picked up his backpack and dropped it beside Andrew’s chair. Leaving it behind made his chest tighten, but Andrew wouldn’t let anything happen to it. Andrew’s eyes dropped to the pack and slid back up to Neil’s face. Neil swallowed and darted out of the room before he could second-guess himself. Andrew knew what that pack meant. He would understand what Neil was trusting him with.

He laced his shoes too tight and all but fell out of the front door into the cold air. Pain spiked up his feet when they hit the pavement, but he kept going, his breath going ragged.

Two miles later he stumbled over a curb and hit the ground hard. Air knifed into his lungs and his feet burned like his shoes were made of hot coals. He stumbled to his feet, biting his cheek at the agony of his blisters.

The city was dark, lit by periodic streetlights and curtained windows. He stared at the empty street, his mother's voice hissing in the back of his mind, but couldn't muster the energy to be afraid. He rubbed his wrist, still tender and faintly blue where Andrew had held onto him during the police search.

“You are going to die,” he whispered to the darkness.

He turned around and began limping back to Andrew’s house.

\---

Beth barrelled into Neil the second he stepped into the school the next morning. He almost flinched before he recognised her. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

“Hi,” Neil said, bemused.

Her arms tightened for a moment. “Hey Neil.” She released him, stepping back to check him up and down. “The rumour mill has been going crazy. People were saying you and Andrew got arrested.”

“No. The cops were just being assholes.”

“They don't think you set the fire, do they?”

“No,” he said, “Dylan confessed to the whole thing. They arrested him yesterday.”

“Wait, actually?” Teia demanded. Neil jumped, noticing her behind Beth for the first time.

“It was in the paper,” Neil said, shrugging like the news didn't still make his heart rate jump.

“That fucker,” Beth said, “Serves him right. I'm halfway tempted to march down to the police station and tell them about his drug habits, too.”

“You knew about that?”

Beth gave him an exasperated look. “Everyone knew about that.”

“Oh.”

“You poor oblivious idiot. I've got Math first thing, you?”

“Um,” Neil rummaged in his pack till he found his new schedule. “Spanish.”

“Oh cool, you and Teia are in the same class. Meet you guys at lunch, okay?”

She disappeared into the crowd without waiting for a confirmation. Neil glanced at Teia. Her shoulders tightened up uncomfortably in Beth’s absence.

“I guess we should go to class,” she said awkwardly.

Neil nodded and fell in step beside her. Silence followed them for a moment, before Teia’s expression lightened, and she said, “So I heard you got some action on New Years.”

Neil shot her a panicked look, his mind jumping to Andrew and how could anyone know—

“Leona?” Teia prompted.

“Oh,” he said. “No. That's nothing.”

“I _saw_ you guys kissing. It didn't look like nothing.”

“Well, it is.”

“But—”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Teia looked like she wanted to say more, but she closed her mouth and looked away. Neil watched the tiles disappear under his feet. Teia’s discomfort grated on his nerves, and for a moment that annoyance stretched to Beth. He hadn’t _asked_ to be friends with her girlfriend.

“How long have you played Exy?” he asked, stifling the irritated voice in his mind.

Teia’s relief was tangible. “Since I was little. My dad wanted me to play football, so naturally I picked something else.” The joke sounded well-used, but she grinned anyway.

“Did you always play goalie?”

“Nah, my little league team liked to switch us around. I didn't really settle on goalie till I made it on the high school team. Have you ever played?”

“No.” Neil said shortly. “What's your favourite team?”

“The Beavers,” Teia said immediately, then grinned. “But actually, the Trojans. I know, it's corny, but I love them. You?”

“Um, the Penn State Lions,” Neil said, improvising.

“Why? They’re so boring. When the Ravens finally go down, it’s gonna be the Trojans that do it. I’ve got money on it.”

“The Trojans could never beat the Ravens,” Neil argued. “They play too clean. If anyone’s going to do it, it’s Penn State.”

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

“You might be waiting a long time to find out.”

Teia chuckled. “True. But at least we can both agree, Palmetto is an embarrassment. Like, a nice concept—”

“But it’s never going to work.”

“Exactly. I was so stoked when I found out we were gonna have a local team to root for, and I really want to cheer for them! They’re the only team with a female captain, and like, damn. Danielle Wilds is _smoking._ But watching the games is just...painful.”

Neil opened his mouth to reply, but froze when he spotted Leona down the hallway. She looked up at the same moment, and smiled at him. “Shit,” he muttered, and Teia glanced around till she found the source of his curse.  

“Oh,” she said, “Do you want me to—”

“I’ll catch up,” he said, and ground to a halt, resignation burning in his veins. Avoiding Leona had gotten him nowhere, so he was going to have to deal with it now

“Hey,” she said, walking up to him and touching his arm. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Neil said, “Look, Leona…”

If she even heard him, she didn't give any sign. She spoke quickly, her voice somewhere in between nervous and excited. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the dance next week with me? New Years was really fun, and—”

“No,” Neil interrupted. Leona froze. “I'm not going to ask you out. Just...no.”

“What?” Her voice was tiny and fragile. “But I thought…”

“I'm not interested in dating.”

“Are you gay?” she asked, almost hopeful, like at least then she could feel better about his rejection.

“No,” he said, “I'm not anything. I've got to get to class.”

He walked away, trying to ignore the confused and wounded look on Leona’s face. He knew he should probably feel guilty, but he just felt relieved. He slipped into class and took the desk next to Teia. If she read anything in his expression, she wisely kept silent.

\---

School lasted for an eternity, and when Beth invited him to the cafe he nearly refused on the basis of sheer exhaustion. The alternatives were returning to the cousins’ house or his old building, though, so he went.

They settled into their usual corner. Beth seemed to sense that Neil was chewing on something, and left him alone. Half an hour passed, Neil staring at his magazine, Beth working on some Math homework. His knee bounced under the table until he forcibly stilled it.

Finally, he folded his magazine and dropped it on the table, keeping his eyes down. Beth lowered her pen, watching him expectantly. He tapped his thumb against the magazine. Beth’s eyes felt heavy and knowing, leaching away the courage that he’d spent all day gathering.

“Spit it out,” Beth said, rapping the back of his hand with the pen to snap him out of it. His fingers retracted into a loose ball.

“Jerk,” he muttered.

“You were thinking really loudly.”

He huffed in embarrassment. He couldn’t quite make eye contact as he asked carefully, “How did you know that you like girls?”

Beth’s eyebrows shot up, an amused smile playing on her lips. He kept his expression neutral, not that it fooled her. “Wasn’t really hard. I came back from my first day at kindergarten and told mom I was going to marry Miss Claudio, and that was pretty much it. The real surprise was learning I liked boys too. We didn’t figure out that one till I was like, thirteen.”

“Hm.” Neil said. Beth looked like she was about to say something, then she closed her mouth and eyed him for a moment.

“Leona asked if I’m gay.”

Beth actually snorted. “Oh sweetie, you are not gay.”

Neil turned to stare at her. She sighed and glanced up. “Okay, let’s go for a visual example. Do you see Gene, back there?”

“Yes?”

“And?”

Neil frowned and glanced between Beth and Gene, who was leaning over to put some food on a table, grinning at the elderly couple seated there. Beth pointed her finger at Neil like that proved everything. “Not gay.”

“I don’t get it.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Neil, my tiny grumpy angel, you didn’t even peek at his butt. Whatever you are, it’s not gay.”

“Okay.”

She gave him a flat look at his obvious avoidance. “Look, I walked Teia through this whole thing back in sophomore year, so if you need help figuring it out, I’m here. But I get the feeling that’s not what you want.”

Neil nodded mutely, hiding his face in the magazine. He felt weirdly shaky, like anyone in the room might turn around and call him by his real name. It wasn’t like he really cared if he was lying when he told people he wasn’t interested in sex. It deflected any unwanted attention, so he’d probably do it anyway.

Not knowing was uncomfortable, but compared to his other secrets, it was trivial. He wished it felt that way right now.

Beth was silent for a minute or so before she spoke again. “Sexuality is just...it’s fucking weird, Neil. The more I read about it, the weirder it gets. I figure, if you like somebody and they like you back, just take it and run. And if you find a word on the way that feels like it fits—” she shrugged. “Some people do, some don’t. Whatever. Just tell me to shut up, I’m basically just quoting my mom at this point. She’s way better at this stuff than me.”

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. After a moment, he added, “Thanks.”

“Don’t go sappy on me, asshole.”

Neil shot her a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Oh, Neil.” She rolled her eyes, but the jaunty expression slipped into something soft, and a little vulnerable. “Just...be careful, okay?”

“Now who’s getting sappy?” Neil mumbled, looking away from the gentle concern in her eyes.

She swatted the back of his head with her book. “Asshole.”

“You did question four wrong, by the way.”

“ _Asshole._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after blitzing as many updates this month as possible im gonna have to warn you that update schedule from here till forever is gonna be...sporadic. my life is in weird, wild flux and while thats fantastic for me, its not so great for spending half an hour a day on concentrated writing time. or internet access period. 
> 
> so if its a while till the next update, just know im not dead, i love you all, and the fic must go on
> 
> <3<3<3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be about pining and butt ogling but it got away from me soz
> 
> Uhh warnings for allusions to sexual abuse and discussion of self harm.

Cheers rattled the walls of the Exy court as the buzzer sounded for another foul. It was Andrew’s first game since his probation ended,  but he played with the same perfunctory effort that he usually did. He was still a glory to watch. Andrew at his most indifferent still completely outclassed any other player on the court.

“Earth to Neil,” Beth interrupted, waving a hand in front of his face.

Neil shook himself and looked down at the bake sale in front of him. “Brownies,” Beth prompted, and he nodded jerkily and dug up another tray from behind the table. The pre-game crowd had emptied much of the table, not that it made a dent in the vast quantities of baked goods Josephine’s Legion friends churned out every week. What wasn't eaten today would be sold tomorrow at the football game.

His hands were jittery and distractible. He’d gone back to the industrial park yesterday after the cafe closed, and it had done nothing for his nerves. Andrew hadn't offered a snide comment about the shadows under his eyes when they met for their usual cigarette before school, but his expression spoke volumes. 

Mostly though, his conversation with Beth weighed too heavy on his mind. He caught himself thinking again of Andrew's fierce kiss. Andrew's unflinching protection. Andrew’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him close even when his eyes were dark with fire. A dozen times,  _ I hate you. _

Whatever Beth said, it couldn't ever be so simple for Neil. He was always hurtling towards the next crisis, racing the black hole that would eventually swallow him without a trace. He’d already tied himself too tightly to Andrew, with promises and trust and honesty whipped away on the wind between cigarettes on the roof. The idea of that tether pulling Andrew down with him haunted him.

Worse, was the fear that it had already gotten too strong. That cutting it to free Andrew would injure them both irreparably.

Impossible. Andrew didn't get attached.  _ Impossible _ . He found himself rubbing his lips and laced his fingers so they'd stay in his lap. The fear remained.

The game ran on in front of them. Beth nudged Neil a couple times to keep him on task, but didn't try to lure him into conversation. The Beavers had a hefty lead, courtesy of both their united offensive line and Andrew's unflappable presence in the goal. The strikers harried the opposing team on the other side of the court, and Andrew let the head of his racquet droop to rest on the grass, leaning on it lazily.

The buzzer sounded for the end of the half and for once Neil breathed a sigh of relief at the impending rush of people. He distracted himself with making change and wrapping cookies in napkins. A thump beside him indicated Andrew's arrival, and a hand reached out to swipe a cupcake. Neil deliberately kept his eyes forward. 

The rush didn't last long enough. Soon the table was half empty and Beth began the process of restocking everything, and Neil couldn't ignore Andrew anymore. He turned just enough to nod in greeting. 

Andrew flicked his eyes towards Neil briefly, but his attention was focussed on his stolen cupcake. His hair was flattened and glued to his scalp where his helmet fit tightest. It shouldn't have looked good, but Neil's eyes caught on a droplet of sweat on his forehead and he had to look away quickly.

No, it was more than just Aaron's resentful gaze and Nicky’s prying questions that had driven him back to the industrial park last night. He needed some distance, to sort through his next moves.

“Hey Andrew,” Beth said, settling back into her seat. “Long-time, no-see.”

She waited a beat, then added, “Chatty, as usual.”

Neil shot her a surreptitious glance. He knew, from her conversation with Teia, that Beth wasn't comfortable with Andrew, but other than the jaunty bravado in her voice there was no sign of it. 

She hummed, a dismissive sound, and turned her attention to Neil. “I like the new backpack, by the way,” she said. “Did Master Duffel Bag finally kick the bucket?”

“Retired,” Neil said, feigning a lightness he didn't feel. 

“ _ And _ a new shirt. Must have been a good Christmas.”

“It's not new.”

“Sure it is. You've only got like, four shirts.”

“Eight,” Andrew corrected. 

A startled smile stretched across Beth's face. Neil shot Andrew a glare, which he ignored. “Oh,” Beth said, “Mom made you a new batch of cupcakes. Don't eat them all in one sitting.”

Neil took the proffered Tupperware, while Beth waved a finger at Andrew. “These are Neil cupcakes,” she warned, “Not for you.”

Andrew spared a glance for the box, then huffed his disdain. “Neil cupcakes are disgusting anyway.”

Beth's jaw dropped in a parody of horror. “You've been eating Neil's cupcakes. Neil, you've been letting him eat your cupcakes?”

Neil flushed a little. He had been passing some of his cupcakes off to Andrew, though he usually just shredded them and ate the sweet bits. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to my mother! She's the one you betrayed.” Neil scrunched down a little lower, but Beth just laughed.  Over Neil's head, she asked, “So, which one was your favourite?”

Andrew's response was nothing but white noise. Neil's head hummed with static. A dozen small gifts jumped through his thoughts, cycling round the jumble of his mind. There was the cupcakes, and the coffees Beth insisted on buying because she got a discount. Meals casually handed off, excused because they were close to expiry. 

A pair of sunglasses, melted beyond recognition on the changeroom floor.

“I have to go,” he whispered, grabbing his pack and stumbling upright.

“Neil? Are you—”

Whatever else Beth said was lost as Neil careened past the bake sale, making for the gap in the stands. He needed to be  _ away _ . 

Sitting between Beth and Andrew felt too natural. Too normal. 

He wanted it so badly it ached.

He was halfway around the school when a hand on his arm stopped him. He flinched, but Andrew didn't let go until Neil recognized him, slumping, defeated. 

“I can't be this,” he said desperately. “I'm nothing.”

“Yes,” Andrew said. 

Neil raked his fingers through his hair to  hide how badly they were trembling. He felt like he was standing in shifting sand. Every time he felt like he had purchase, his feet slid out from him again. “It wasn't supposed to be like this. No one was supposed to get attached. But now, with Beth, and you—”

Andrew raised a cool eyebrow. “Me?”

“You like me.”

“I hate you. Ninety percent of the time the very sight of you makes me want to commit murder.”

The words loosened something in Neil's chest, his breath escaping in a gust of air. The fear that had taken up post in him faded under Andrew's callous words. How arrogant, to assume Andrew would fall for someone like him. “And the other ten percent?”

Andrew's gaze lingered on Neil's lips, before tracking slowly up his face to his eyes. “It doesn't matter.”

“Obviously it does.”

Andrew made a dismissive noise, letting his gaze drift away, avoiding him. “Andrew,” he said, “Andrew no, look at me.”

He started to turn away and Neil grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving.

It was a mistake, and he knew it before his hand closed on Andrew's wrist. Andrew twisted, bending Neil's hand backwards and slamming his palm into Neil's chest to throw him back. He hit the wall hard, the shock reverberating through him.

“Andrew,” he said, his gaze meeting Andrew's like the clash of blades. He expected Andrew to move away, but he stood his ground, their bodies only a few inches apart. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

Andrew watched him for a long moment. “I won’t be like them.”

Neil stood paralyzed as the words fell from his mouth like stones. “Like who?”

A twitch in the corner of Andrew’s eye was all that betrayed his agitation. His expression went smooth, a paper mask, and Neil was scared to peel it away and find out what lay beneath. On instinct, he reached out, bringing his fingers within a breath of touching Andrew’s banded forearm. He didn’t miss how Andrew tensed. “Was that why?”

“You don’t want to pull on that thread,” 

“I want to play another round,” Neil said, “Is that why you—” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He had dozens of scars on his body, but none of them were by his own hand. Andrew stared at him heavily, pinning him down with burning hazel eyes. 

“Yes,” Andrew said, “and no. You want a story? Here is the story. My last foster mother wanted to adopt me. She thought she could straighten me out, make me  _ better.  _ She would’ve been my mother, if I wanted it.”

Neil’s stomach twisted in knots. “These were for her,” Andrew continued ruthlessly, “So she wouldn’t see what her real son was doing behind closed doors. She got to play mother, and he got a plaything. This—” he ran his thumb down the bands, his voice bored, indifferent, impossible. “—was the only thing that was all mine. My body. My pain.”

“And when you couldn’t stand it anymore, you got yourself arrested?”

“Oh no,” Andrew said, “That’s a different story. You only get one.”

Hot air from Andrew’s breath puffed against Neil’s face. He wanted to tear out the memory of Andrew’s confession and scrub it from his mind. He wanted to find Andrew’s foster brother and rip him to pieces. Andrew could be violent, and cruel, but he was straightforward. A knife always meant the same thing. To take something good, something wonderful, and twist it into a weapon…

“It’s your turn,” he said, because he would rather talk about his own history than think about Andrew’s a second longer. 

Andrew considered the question for only a moment. “Your name.”

Neil opened his mouth, but he couldn't make the words. “I'm named after my father,” he said finally. “Mom used to call me by my middle name, when she wanted to protect me from his work. Abram.”

“And his name?”

“Nathan,” Neil said, so soft it was barely a breath on the wind between them. It still made the back of his neck prickle.

“You don't look like a Nathan.”

“I'm not. I'm Nathaniel.”

Andrew reached out and pressed two fingers against Neil's throat. Neil could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, knew Andrew could feel it too. They'd both ripped open old wounds, bled out the truth, but Andrew didn't seem to feel it. 

Neil had no choice but to hurt for both of them. 

Andrew's fingers lingered on his skin, and his thoughts turned over. The question tumbled out before he could second-guess it. “Why did you kiss me?”

Andrew retracted his hand and Neil mourned the loss of his warmth. "I shouldn't have done it. You don't swing."

Nicky’s words, which meant Andrew had overheard at least part of that conversation. Neil swallowed his irritation and focussed on Andrew, his face as impassive as ever. “It's easier not to,” he said. “I've never been able to trust someone enough to let them that close, so there was no point wanting anything.”

Silence whistled and rustled, litter fluttering around their feet in the breeze. Andrew's hair wafted into his eyes, but he didn't brush it aside, or look away from Neil. 

Dozens of tangled thoughts filled up his mind, but Andrew's indifferent gaze smoothed them away. He waited for a moment before hesitantly reaching up to push Andrew's sweaty hair aside. He went tense, tracking Neil's movements, but Neil just dropped his hand back to his side, a thrill singing in his stomach from being allowed the tiny gesture. 

“I don’t know what I want, but I know that it felt good. I've never—been interested in anyone before, and I don't know why you’re the exception." He licked his lips nervously, trying to read a cue, anything, in Andrew's bland expression. "But I'd like to find out."

Andrew gazed back at him, completely devoid of emotion. Neil counted his eyelashes, traced shapes among the pale freckles that dusted his cheekbones. His eyes dropped to his lips, and jerked back up to meet Andrew’s cold stare.

He braced himself for the inevitable dismissal, and Andrew’s next words knocked him off balance.

"Yes or no?"

"What?" 

Andrew stepped fractionally closer and pressed one hand to Neil’s chest. His fingertips dug into his skin despite the thick hoodie. "You have to say it. Yes or no?"

"Yes," Neil breathed, leaning towards Andrew, stopping just shy of his lips.

Andrew studied him for a second longer, searching for a lie. "Don't touch me," he said finally, and dragged Neil's face down to meet his.

Neil reached for him instinctively, before his thoughts caught up to Andrew’s words. He stuffed his hands in his back pockets as Andrew slid his hand up the back of his neck. He shuddered, pushing into Andrew's lips, seeking pressure, and then Andrew’s tongue slid alongside his, and his thoughts stopped altogether.

The world vanished, the breeze dying out before the heat opening up inside him. Andrew grabbed the front of Neil's shirt and shoved him backwards until he hit the wall. Neil's wrists scraped against the rough brick, but he barely noticed. 

“Abram,” Andrew growled, his voice low and rough. 

Something flared in Neil's gut and he pushed into the kiss harder, more urgently . He'd been kissed before, but never by someone who knew him. Being seen, being known, was as dizzying and terrifying as it was intoxicating. Andrew's hand slipped down his chest a few inches, and a sharp noise tore from his throat. 

Teeth on his lip ended the kiss, tugging just hard enough to be felt before releasing him. Andrew pressed his hand against Neils ribcage, keeping him pinned. Andrew's pupils were dilated and his breath came just a little too fast, rushing out like he was trying to hold it in. A thrill of pride went through him, trickling down his spine and pooling in his navel. Andrew’s lips were dark and damp, and Neil leaned forward hungrily, wanting more.

Andrew pushed him back with a hand on his chest. “Not here.”

Neil knew he was right, knew that there were hundreds of people just around the corner who could walk past at any second, but a petulant part of him whined in protest. 

“You should get back to the team,” Neil said, burying his disappointment.

Andrew stepped back, his eyes scouring Neil from top to bottom, a slow once-over that singed his skin with heat. Their eyes met and Neil forgot any concern about being found out. He wanted to find a dark corner and learn exactly what Andrew wanted. He wanted Andrew’s hands and his mouth all over him. He wanted to find out what made Andrew come undone. 

“Get out,” Andrew said. 

Neil swayed, “What?”

Andrew made a dismissive gesture, “Out.”

Neil opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, nodded and skirted Andrew, leaving plenty of space between them. A single touch might be enough to make him burst into flames.

His pack lay forgotten on the ground a few feet away. When had he dropped it? How could he have been so careless?

The breeze sent a cool shiver across his damp lips, and the questions answered themselves.

He retrieved his bag and made his slow way back to the stadium, checking himself for any evidence of what had just happened. His mind was full of clouds, his thoughts too wispy and insubstantial to hang onto. 

It felt like hours had passed, but the clock on the scoreboard indicated it had been barely ten minutes. He returned to the bake sale, a little of his earlier shame creeping back when he spotted Beth sitting alone. Josephine rarely came to the Exy games anymore, relying on Neil to be Beth's second. 

He couldn't quite meet Beth's eyes as he sat down beside her again. He tucked his pack under the chair and fidgeted. Hot and cold wound together through his limbs, tying him into tighter and tighter knots. 

“Better?” Beth asked, reaching over to tweak his hair, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Yeah,” he said, sagging into his chair a little, relieved by the lack of judgement in Beth's eyes. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Neil hummed in response, the vibration tingling in his lips. He could still feel Andrew there, like he was written on his skin. His eyes sought him, and found him settling onto the home bench, a vacuum of silence around him.

_ Stupid. Reckless.  _

He dropped his eyes, as if they would reveal his thoughts to the world. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he let it. 

He’d forgotten what it felt like to be alive. For the first time in years, his heart was pounding in something other than fear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a rollercoaster hope you enjoyed
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and kudoing and commenting, and for being patient with my slow updates :)
> 
> (Also if you notice any weird typos let me know it turns out typing on a phone is actually WORSE than typing on a tablet)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh im back this chapter was a struggle but its HERE
> 
> warnings for sexual stuff and andrew dealing with feelings he was Not Prepared for

Neil leaned against the window frame, for once not worrying about being spotted. Rain poured off the glass, rivulets racing and tangling down and around the accumulated grime of years of neglect. Wind subsided and then hurled icy sheets of rain across the street just as abruptly. Leaves glued to the window by rot slowly slid downwards until they accumulated in a sludge on the sill.

He breathed deeply and watched the street through the smear of glass and rain, enjoying the anonymity of the storm. The old building creaked and groaned protest, and he tugged his blanket closer around his shoulders. Even inside, there were enough drafts to make it chilling.

He wasn't complaining. The wind washed the stale air clean and he filled his lungs with it greedily.

The sound of a cleared throat startled him out of his reverie. He whipped around, losing grip on his blanket. It fluttered down to his ankles, sending up a cloud of dust.

Andrew stood in the centre of the sparring circle, expression as bored as ever. His leather jacket glistened with water and his hair was plastered to his skull.

Neil sighed and gathered up the blanket, depositing it back on his nest. “I didn't think you'd bother today.”

“It's just rain.”

A distant rumble of thunder seemed to contradict that, but Neil decided not to point that out. “I've got nothing left to teach you.”

“You can still spar with me,” Andrew said, and Neil felt the corner of his mouth twitch at the tacit admission that he wanted this to continue. He stepped over the line of rebar and settled himself across the sparring circle from Andrew, blowing on his chapped hands to try and revive them.

Neil studied Andrew from a distance, marking the way his shoulders were just slightly hunched against the cold, his hands fisted in his jacket pockets for warmth. He wondered what Andrew was thinking. The weekend had stretched long and cold, alone in the old building with only speculation to keep him company.

He stopped himself before his eyes could wander too much and spoke. “I want to change the deal.”

Andrew's entire reaction was contained in a single skeptical eyebrow, but he knew Andrew well enough by now to know how much that meant. “Why?”

Neil rolled his shoulders, wishing he had a cigarette, or at least something to do with his hands. “It has to change now that I've fulfilled my side anyway.”

Andrew just stared at him, waiting. Neil looked away, scowling a little. “It was the fire,” he admitted. “And the gasoline. I just...froze up. I couldn't think of what to do. I stood there and panicked and waited to be rescued.”

He managed to drag his head up to meet Andrew's gaze, glad there was no emotion there to shatter his own control. “I spent my whole life hiding behind my mother and since then I've been hiding behind you. I don't want to be helpless anymore.”

“Martyr,” Andrew muttered.

“I'll still spar with you. Just let me stand for myself.”

“What would you take in return?”

“What would you give me?”

“Don't ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Neil tilted his head, wondering what Andrew meant by that. He knew what he wanted, though, and saw resignation flicker across Andrew's face as he realized it too.

“Teach me how to play.”

Andrew made a disdainful noise. “If I cared, I would ask why you're so obsessed.”

Neil opened his mouth to explain anyway, but Andrew made a cutting gesture and he stopped, more out of hope it would make Andrew more amenable than any sort of obedience. Andrew's eyes were dark and fathomless in the dim light of the stormy sky. A flash of lightning was just enough to illuminate his edges, sharpening his face to bone.

The silence stretched interminably as Andrew considered the deal. Neil didn't interrupt; he knew anything he said now would only weigh against him. Outside, gusts of wind assaulted the building repeatedly, but the noise didn't break through thick tension between them.

Neil was starting to wonder if Andrew intended to respond at all when he finally raised his finger. “One condition.”

“What do you want?”

Andrew paused, clearly warring with the reflexive urge to say _nothing._ “Move into the house.”

Neil blinked in surprise. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that. Andrew waited a moment for him to respond and continued when he failed to speak. “All of your problems this year have been because you live on the streets. The junkie found you because you were here, and Dylan was able to predict you because you were squatting in the changerooms.”

“You're trying to protect me.”

Andrew gave him a withering look. “You're no use to me if you get yourself killed.”

Neil wasn't fooled. Andrew had been protecting him since they first made their deal, when they were still strangers and Neil still didn't know how far Andrew would go for his promises. If the price for changing the deal—if the price for taking Andrew out of the firing line—was letting him have one last act as Neil's protector, he couldn't find a good enough reason to deny him.

“And you'll teach me Exy?” he asked, wanting to hear it out loud.

Andrew gazed at him blandly, refusing to repeat what had already been said. Neil nodded slowly. Part of him twisted in anxiety at the idea of spending more time around Andrew’s family, but the larger part was willing to cave already.

“Okay,” he breathed, and then more strongly, “Yes.”

“Are you going to fall apart over it?” Andrew asked, sounding perfectly bored at the notion.

“No,” Neil said, a smile threatening in his cheeks. “I got what I wanted, didn't I?”

“Don't come crying to me when someone breaks your face.”

“I won’t. Thank you.” He let the smile break free, his cheeks hurting from the effort of holding it in. “What are we practicing today?” he asked, happy to let Andrew lead the sparring session now it wasn't his responsibility to teach.

“Not dying,” Andrew replied.

“Right,” he said, struggling not to roll his eyes, and shucked his hoodie, shivering at the blast of cold air. They'd be sweaty and hot in a minute anyway.

Andrew didn't move for a long moment, before slowly peeling away his coat and grimacing perceptibly at the temperature. Neil raised an eyebrow when he dropped it to one side without drawing his knife. He stood with his hands slack and empty at his sides.

“Bare fists?” Neil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't need a knife to beat you.”

Neil wanted to snark something back, but before he found the right words, Andrew lunged, and then they were locked in a furious struggle, swinging round the sparring circle in a vicious storm of limbs and barely restrained blows.

Andrew was, unfortunately, right. It took him less than a minute to overwhelm Neil's defenses and catch him in an armlock, twisting him around so he yelped and fell to his knees.

Neil shook it off, stretching his shoulder when Andrew released him. He was sharper now than he perhaps had ever been, after months of biweekly practice with Andrew, but he’d never really been much of a fighter. It gave Andrew an edge where he was already eons ahead of Neil.

They went back and forth for nearly an hour, until Neil was shivery with exhaustion, his arms leaden and bruised from deflecting Andrew's fists. A furrow formed between Andrew's eyebrows and his breath came tight and short. The knife reappeared sometime after the first couple rounds, maybe because pummelling Neil wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped. Too easy. At least with the knife he needed to practise technique.

Their last round lasted barely ten seconds before Neil hit the ground, hard, ears ringing from the impact. Andrew came down with him, landing on his knees, the knife still aimed at his throat.

The blade scraped Neil's collarbone as he sucked in a gasp at the impact. Andrew's arm lay heavy across his chest, his weight pinning him down. Neil slumped against the floor, letting his head drop to the concrete. “You win again,” he remarked.

“How you survived this long when you're so terrible at fighting is beyond me.”

“I had you to protect me,” he replied lightly, blinking up at Andrew, muscles relaxed despite the knife held against his skin.

“Not anymore,” Andrew said, heaving himself up and away from Neil. Neil rolled to his feet more slowly, wincing at the aches in his body. Andrew watched him massage feeling back into his shoulder and came to a decision. “We’re done.”

“Thank god,” Neil muttered. He grabbed his hoodie and yanked it on, ready to collapse into his nest and sleep till tomorrow.

Andrew cleared his throat and Neil shot him a questioning glance. He cast a significant look at Neil's backpack, lying next to his nest, and Neil grimaced as he remembered that he didn't get to sleep in peace tonight. He had to face the gauntlet of Andrew's family first.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, gathering up a few scattered items to pack—granola bars, peanut butter, a pack of brown contacts that had cost him an entire twenty-three dollars in next-day delivery charges.

He heard a huff behind him, and then Andrew muttered, “Moron.”

Neil scowled. “What?”

“We don't have to leave _now,_ ” Andrew said, and Neil twisted to stare at him, uncomprehending. Andrew tilted his head towards the nest, casting another significant glance towards it.

It clicked.

Neil's mouth went dry.

Andrew must have read the understanding in Neil's expression, because he crossed the space between them in a few short steps, stopping a few inches away. Neil's hands hung uselessly at his side.

“Yes or no?”

The question sent a jolt through Neil's gut. No lead-up, no foreplay. As abrupt and direct as he was in the sparring circle.

His eyes travelled from Andrew's hair, tufted and weirdly mussed from half-dried rain and sweat, to his eyes, to his lips. “Yes,” he breathed, leaning forward, only to be stopped by Andrew's hand on his chest.

He waited, wondering if Andrew could feel how fast his heart was already going. Andrew's expression was as bland as ever, but his eyes didn't stray from Neil's face.

Andrew's fingers knotted in his hoodie and shoved him backwards until he hit the wall. Insulation tangled around his feet but he couldn't make himself care, not with Andrew's breath against his skin and hand against his chest. He took a couple slow, controlled breaths, glancing down at the white-knuckled grip Andrew had on his shirt. Their noses bumped as he looked back up, feeling more than hearing Andrew's soft exhalation.

He tucked his hands into the small of his back, felt Andrew's grip on his shirt loosen just a touch. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Andrew kissed him, and everything was happening at once.

Their teeth clashed and rebounded, Neil's head ricocheting off the soft drywall before they found the middle ground. Andrew's hand slid up to his shoulder and back again, his other hand catching Neil's jaw to hold him in place, and Neil gasped approval into his mouth. He got a sharp bite to his lip for his trouble, but the pain was lost as Andrew immediately replaced his teeth with his mouth.

Too soon, Andrew pulled away, and Neil chased him, pressing his lips to Andrew's jaw when his head tilted away, only to be met by a sharp shove. Andrew stepped back, yanking the blanket out from under the mess of insulation and tossing it over the entire pile.

Andrew looked back up at him, and Neil's stomach dropped out from inside him and just kept falling. Andrew’s eyes were hooded, his lips flushed deep red. Neil stared at him, dazzled, until Andrew grabbed him impatiently and he tumbled onto the blanket in a boneless heap.

He struggled to right himself, getting the blanket hopelessly wrapped around his legs until Andrew caught his shoulders and flattened him down. The air was too thick to breathe properly as he arranged himself over Neil, knees propped to either side of his hips, his body dangerously close. He caught Neil's fumbling hands and pushed them up above his head before leaning down to catch him in another hungry kiss. Neil's lips parted easily, trying to copy Andrew's movements, not sure how much or how little he was supposed to give, but certain that Andrew would tell him if he got it too wrong.

He must have been doing okay, because Andrew leaned into him, pushing him so deep into the pile of insulation that his backbone dug into the plywood floor. The storm thundered distantly outside, echoed in Neil's bounding pulse. Heat radiated from Andrew's skin, only a few inches above him, and it took every ounce of self-control he had left to stop from arching up against him. His fingernails dug into his palms, wrists aching in Andrew's powerful grip.

Andrew tried to pull back and Neil latched onto his lip, tugging with his teeth until Andrew growled and kissed him punishingly, forcing his head down into the insulation. Neil groaned as Andrew's tongue swept across the roof of his mouth, too dazed to stop him when Andrew propped himself up on one arm and pulled away again. In the dim light, he could just make out glints where Andrew’s eyes were.

He blinked hazily and wondered how Andrew still had the strength to hold himself up. Neil's bones felt too wobbly to hold him. Andrew’s shoulders were bunched up from the way he was supporting his weight, completely eclipsing Neil.

Slowly, Andrew relinquished his grip on Neil's wrists, dropping his hand beside Neil's head. Neil flexed his fingers cautiously, skin tingling as blood rushed back into his hands, aware of how closely Andrew was watching his every movement. He twisted his hands into the blanket, a silent promise, and wondered what it would be like to run his hands over Andrew's muscular shoulders.

Andrew's chin tilted and his lips brushed Neil's jaw, eyes up, waiting for him to make a false move. Neil's eyes flickered closed and a hot breath against his neck was his only warning before Andrew's mouth pressed into the corner of his shoulder, wet and open. Neil exhaled raggedly as Andrew sucked on his skin, not quite hard enough to mark, and didn't notice Andrew's hand moving until it slipped under his shirt.

A shuddering gasp tore from his lungs and Andrew stopped, looking up at Neil. His hand burned against Neil's stomach.

“Neil,” Andrew said, a warning and a question in one.

“ _Yes.”_

Andrew pressed one more kiss to Neil's neck before peeling up his shirt and hoodie in one go. Neil lifted his shoulders and helped tug them over his head, leaving him bare and shivering. Andrew left the clothing still wrapped around Neil's wrists and Neil dug his fingers into the soft fabric to keep them still.

Goosebumps raced across his skin as he watched Andrew survey his scarred chest. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but Neil wondered what Andrew thought now he could see him without a fire blazing between them. He swallowed, self-consciousness rising belatedly, anxiety and cold air biting into the growing heat between them.  

Andrew slid his palm up Neil’s chest, fingertips bumping over the lines of his scars. He shivered, tucking his head to try and get a look at Andrew’s expression. “Hey,” he said quietly.

He tipped his chin up when Andrew looked at him, and he obliged, sliding one hand behind Neil's neck and using that leverage to kiss deep into his mouth. Neil groaned as his stomach reiginited and Andrew's lips travelled downwards, leaving a damp trail down his throat.

A jolt went through him as Andrew dipped his tongue into the puckered centre of his old bullet wound. The skin there was so damaged he could barely feel the pressure of Andrew's prodding tongue before he continued down Neil's chest. His hands moved along Neil's ribcage, tracing countless criss-crossing scars. Neil arched his neck against the blanket behind him, his breathing sharpening with every scrape of teeth and tongue.

Andrew bit down on his nipple and he couldn't stay quiet anymore. “Andrew,” he gasped. Andrew's tongue flicked the hardened bud and he let out a frustrated groan, knotting his hands in his hoodie. “ _Andrew.”_

Andrew slid his tongue across his nipple or more time before releasing him. Neil struggled to catch his breath as Andrew propped himself up and studied Neil's face for a long moment.

One of Andrew's hands left his chest and reached down to cup him through his sweatpants. Air burst out of him and he dropped his head back against the blanket, clenching and thrusting up into Andrew's hand. Andrew's fingers kneaded him through the thick cloth, holding him down. His body was strung out and tight as a wire, the pressure of Andrew's fingers almost painful in its intensity.

Andrew grunted and released him, making Neil whine in protest. “Move,” he ordered, shifting one knee between Neil's legs. Neil complied so enthusiastically that he nearly knocked Andrew over. Their legs tangled and Neil liked that, liked the feeling of Andrew's thighs sliding over his, but he wasn't too far gone to miss Andrew's growl and he froze, holding still as Andrew pinned his knee and climbed over him till he was kneeling between Neil's legs.

Andrew dropped onto his elbow and their lips met for another bruising kiss before Andrew's hand slipped down the waistband of his pants and Neil's mind short-circuited. Andrew wasted no time pulling Neil out of his boxers and into the open. The cold air sent a shock through Neil's system; Andrew's hand quickly burnt it away.

He set a quick pace, but Neil wouldn't have asked for less. He was a dam at the brink of bursting, Andrew's callused palm sending shudders of pleasure through his whole body. Air ripped through his lungs too fast to do him any good. “Andrew,” he panted. “Oh fuck, _Andrew.”_

Andrew bit his lip in response but Neil barely felt it as heat swept through his body. Andrew’s knuckles brushed against his stomach, their bodies scant inches apart. He pressed his head backwards, muscles curling tighter and tighter as Andrew worked him relentlessly closer to the edge.

He stopped breathing entirely as he came, mouth gaping in a soundless groan. Andrew's free hand dug into his hair, grounding him as he came crashing back down on the blanket, kissing the air back into him when his muscles went slack and soft. Neil turned his head, tingles shooting through his fingertips, and buried his face against Andrew's throat to stifle the pathetic noises squeezing out of his lungs.

Warmth suffused every inch of his body, slow and mellow and sweet as honey. He rubbed his nose against Andrew’s neck, getting a sharp intake of breath in response. He brushed his lips against the cords of Andrew’s throat, tasting the sweat there. Andrew jerked in surprise, his fingers digging into Neil’s skull.

Neil hummed in satisfaction and Andrew growled, grabbing his chin and capturing his lips in a jagged, biting kiss. Aftershocks shuddered through Neil's oversensitive skin when Andrew finally sat up, cold air rushing into the space between them.

Andrew surveyed Neil's bare stomach for a moment before wiping him clean with a corner of the blanket. He tugged at his shirt and hoodie until Neil got the hint and squirmed partially upright, allowing Andrew to pull them back down over his chest. He flopped back against the blanket, blinking dazedly up at Andrew.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and Andrew met his gaze like it was a challenge, eyes dark with something hotter than anger. Neil swallowed his first offer and waited him out, tracing the shape of his cheekbones with his eyes.

Andrew shook his head like a dog shaking off water and sat back, rummaging in his pocket until he found his cigarettes. He dropped the pack on Neil's stomach. “Go.”

Neil fumbled and nearly dropped it. His fingers moved like he was underwater. Walking sounded like an monumental task, but when he looked up at Andrew's closed off face he just nodded and struggled to pull himself upright.

He pried himself off the ground, careful not to touch Andrew. Tingles shot through his overstimulated skin as he stumbled across the room to the stairs. He made it halfway to the trapdoor before he remembered the storm blustering outside.

The upper floor rattled with barely restrained wind. He lowered himself to the bottom step of the ladder and lit a cigarette, slow and deliberate so his tremulous fingers couldn't betray him. He took a deep drag, needing the smoke to shock him out of his muggy haze.

It didn't really work.

He lay his arm across a higher step and hid his face in the crook of his elbow, replaying every moment of what happened below. A shudder ran through his entire body, threatening to dislodge the cigarette in his hand. He hadn't known anything could feel that _much._

A week ago, he hadn't even known why he was so fixated on Andrew—and h _e had_ been fixated on Andrew, even if until Andrew kissed him he hadn't had a name for that fixation. Three days ago, they'd kissed for the first time, properly, and now—

His life was changing so fast he felt like gravity had been overturned. It was good—amazing, maybe—but it was...a lot to take in. He took another quick drag, holding the smoke in his lungs and focussing on the burn as he blew it back out. He wondered what Andrew was doing downstairs, if he was thinking about Neil while he did it. That was a pleasant thought, pooling in his stomach like melted butter.

His cigarette went dim in his hand, forgotten. His shirt stuck to his chest weirdly in spots where Andrew had kissed him and his stomach still felt sticky. He pressed his thumb against his bullet scar and shivered in a good way.

Andrew’s footsteps startled him so hard he nearly fell over. He scrambled upright, dropping the cigarettes and lighter on the ground. He flushed and retrieved them, holding them out as Andrew mounted the top step. Andrew glanced over him, his eyes sliding away as if Neil were just part of the wallpaper.

“Andrew,” he started, but didn’t get any further. Andrew ignored the outstretched cigarettes and shoved past him, climbing up the ladder and setting his shoulder against the trapdoor. “What—”

The trapdoor lurched open and rain sheeted down, splattering Neil. “What the hell?”

Andrew’s feet disappeared into the darkness and Neil swore a couple times. He ground his teeth and followed, wincing as the icy rain soaked through his hoodie in seconds. A gust of wind knocked into him and he scrambled towards Andrew, who stood next to their usual ledge. “You’re going to fall off,” he said in exasperation.

Andrew was ramrod stiff, an immobile statue against the wind. Neil stalled a few feet away, leery of the slick drop. “Andrew? What’s wrong?”

Andrew whirled so fast Neil missed it. Water dripped down his hair into his eyes, smearing his view, so all he could see clearly was the rage in Andrew’s eyes. He caught Neil’s hoodie in his fist and shook, rattling Neil like a cat with a mouse. Neil grabbed of Andrew’s jacket to stabilize himself, knowing even that was toeing the line.

They came to a standstill, safely away from the edge. Neil held on tight, staring at Andrew’s furious expression and wondering how it had changed so quickly.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

“I don’t need anything,” Andrew growled.

“Liar.”

“Fuck you.”

A rumble of thunder startled Neil, and he clung a little tighter to Andrew’s jacket, like he was afraid of blowing away. “What went wrong?”

“ _Nothing._ ”

Neil bit back a barbed response. He was cold and freezing when a second ago he’d been gooey and melted in the middle, and he just wanted this over with. But Andrew wouldn’t be upset without cause. He raked his mind back over what they’d done, seeking the flaw.

“Was it okay?” he asked, just loud enough to be heard over the lashing rain.

The muscles in Andrew’s jaw jumped. Thunder crashed again, but Neil didn’t tear his eyes away from Andrew’s face, looking for the smallest clue. “Yes,” he finally ground out.

His expression chilled for a moment, before he twitched his head, shaking water loose from his soaked hair. “Too much.”

 _Oh,_ Neil thought, swallowing hard. Andrew’s fingers twisted in his hoodie, but Neil couldn’t feel it. “Andrew.” He took a deep breath, and continued, “Look, that was…that was really great, what you did, but I’m fine if we slow down. This is all brand new to me. If all you want is kissing, that’s fine. And if this was a mistake then that’s fine too. We can stop.”

“No,” Andrew snapped, yanking on Neil’s shirt.

Neil forced down a stupid smile. “No, you don’t want to stop, or no, you don’t want to kiss me?”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, hauling him in and crushing their mouths together. Anger coloured every jagged edge, every bite and groan, but Neil was more than a match for it. They broke apart to gasp for breath before Neil closed the distance again, tasting every piece of Andrew’s lips and feeling Andrew’s grip gradually loosen on his hoodie.

He let go of the hoodie entirely and caught Neil’s wrists, squeezing lightly. Neil leaned back a little to watch him but didn’t resist. Andrew raised his hands till they were level with his head and he barely dared to breath as Andrew guided his hands into his hair.

“Yeah?” he murmured.

“Just here,” Andrew said, and caught Neil’s lips again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Neil’s heart was pounding so loud he couldn’t hear the rain. He slid his fingers into the tangled mess of wet hair and used it to tug Andrew closer.

It slowed to a languid, dragging kiss, lips barely touching. They were both too spent to do anything else. Neil rested his forehead against Andrew’s, catching his breath. “I meant it,” he murmured. “Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

“I will push you off this roof.”

“I’d pull you with me,” Neil said, pinching his lips in a smirk.

“Shut _up._ ”

“Can we go inside now? I was looking forward to a hot shower, not a cold one.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Neil said, and pulled back, heading for the trapdoor. After a moment of stubbornness, Andrew followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, as a writer: god Im so glad these guys are the kind of melodramatic morons who would literally kiss in the rain  
> Also me: go inside you fuckheads youre gonna catch a cold


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiits exy time!!! guest appearances by Thirsty Neil, Mother Nicky and Protective Aaron.

The entire stands bounced with the vibration of Nicky’s fidgeting. Neil kept his eyes down, avoiding Nicky’s stare and picking his way through some Math homework. Returning to the cousins’ house had only sharpened Nicky’s curiosity, though he was more cautious now. Neil got the distinct impression Andrew had words with him last night when Neil wasn’t in the room.

Below them, the Beavers played some kind of scrimmage which Neil had already partly deciphered the rules to. Andrew and Teia occupied opposing goals, Teia mostly idle as her offense line bombarded Andrew.

He tucked himself back into his homework before he could get too absorbed by the practice. If it were up to him, he’d have snuck away to spend the evening at the café or curled up on the couch for the few hours he was guaranteed privacy from the cousins.

But Andrew had told him to stay, and his insides quivered when he considered the possible reasons why.

“What are you working on?” Nicky asked. Neil shot him a sideways glance. “Oh, come on, is even your homework off-limits? You gotta give me _something_.”

Neil looked down at the sketched court filling up space he should’ve been using for algebra. Tiny figures in balloon-like gear popped up across the page, arranged like the players ahead of him. He didn’t know how to draw the pads without making everyone look like the Michelin Man.

“Oh,” Nicky said, “Nice drawing. Is that Andrew?” He pointed to a figure in goal, half the height of the rest and twice as balloony.

Neil tugged his homework away, ears turning a little red. “It’s just a shitty sketch,” he muttered, pulling out an eraser and trying to demolish it. The paper smudged and tore, so he crumpled it and shoved it in his backpack.

“Have you ever played?” Nicky asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“No.”

“I used to play backliner in high school. Not like, Andrew quality, but I did okay. I keep thinking about joining a neighbourhood team,” Nicky mused, leaning back and propping his elbows on the bench behind him. “Keep this hot bod in shape for when I get back to Erik. But there’s just no time between Sweetie’s, Eden’s and shepherding the twins.”

Neil couldn’t resist. “How did you end up with Aaron and Andrew?”

Nicky shrugged, but his nonchalance felt a little off. “It was either me or my super-religious parents. There would’ve been blood in a week, tops. Andrew doesn’t really like my dad. Or my mom. I’m not convinced he likes _anyone_. But especially not them.”

“Right,” Neil murmured just as the whistle blew, drawing his attention back to the court. Coach Brent and his assistant gathered the team at half-court for a debrief, then dismissed them.

Neil packed away his textbook as the team cleared equipment from the court. Nicky trotted away to meet Aaron and Neil made his slow way out of the stands, scanning the milling crowd for Andrew.

Teia waylaid him before he reached the bottom of the steps. He stalled, just high enough that for once he could see over her head. “Hey Neil! Did you come to watch?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t look like you got to do much though.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because Teia’s expression darkened and she shot a poisonous glare towards the coaches. Neil flinched instinctively. “Yeah, well. Coach thinks priority number one is training the guys who might get scouted. The rest of us…” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

Neil frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re fucking right it’s not. But hey, that’s what being a girl on an Exy team is all about.”

“It shouldn’t.”

Teia’s answering grin was fierce. “I’m beginning to see why Beth likes you. Anyway, I’ve gotta get out of this sweaty gear. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

She joined the last dregs of her teammates still trickling towards the makeshift changerooms—they’d installed a couple portable units until the permanent ones could be repaired—and Neil glanced around, spotting Andrew talking to the coaches. He tightened his grip on his backpack and walked towards them.

A hand dropping onto his shoulder made him jerk back, fist clenching. The guy behind him flinched, holding up his hands wardingly. “What do you—”

He cut off as he recognized him. It was Dylan’s friend, the same one who’d been in the changerooms the day of the fire. He took a step back, immediately tense.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Neil ground out.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. It—it wasn’t right and—”

“Fuck you,” Neil snarled. “I don’t want your shitty apologies. Stay the hell away from me.”

“Look, yeah, I get it, but—”

“No, you don’t get it. Come near me again and you’ll go the same way Dylan did.”

That made the guy flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“Go be sorry on your own time,” Neil snapped, spinning around and marching towards Andrew, trembling with anxiety and rage. He slowed down a few feet away, checking to make sure Dylan’s ‘friend’ had left as well.

“The alarms switch on at eight,” the assistant coach was saying. “If you’re here any later just leave the gear in the portable and we’ll fetch it in the morning.”

“It won’t take that long,” Andrew said, taking a ring of keys from the mans hand. He spotted Neil and turned halfway towards him. Neil took that as an invitation and joined them, calculatedly out of reach of either coach.

Coach Brent looked him over with startled recognition. “Hey, aren’t you—”

“Weren’t you leaving?” Andrew asked.

“Right, sorry,” Brent said, turning away, and Neil only had a moment to be amused at how easily he was cowed by a teenager before he and Andrew were standing alone by the court.

Andrew’s eyes swept over Neil, taking in his loose sweatpants and running shoes. “Good enough,” he grunted, and opened the door to the court.

Neil’s legs locked up beneath him, his chest freezing, crushing the air from his lungs. Andrew trudged onto the court like it meant nothing, oblivious to Neil’s hesitation.

The open door yawned in front of him. This was forbidden. Every rule he’d broken before made sense. Every time he went to the café, every time he told Andrew a secret, he knew why his mother had forbidden it.

Except this. He could’ve pursued any other sport, but not this. Mary Hatford hadn’t felt the need to explain herself.

Andrew noticed he was alone and paused, waving him forward. Neil tried to focus on Andrew, not his mother’s phantom voice, but he couldn’t quite take that first step. Andrew waited a second to see if Neil would snap out of it on his own, his posture impatient. Finally, he walked back to the door. “Problem?”

Neil swallowed. “My mom…my mom never let me play. She told me to obsess from a distance.”

“Because your Raven shrine is so much healthier.”

A faint smile tugged at Neil’s lips. “It filled the time.”

“Stop wasting mine,” Andrew countered. “Are you coming, yes or no?”

Neil stared at him. “Okay. Yeah. Right.” He stared at the court, immobile. Andrew folded his arms, the heavy pads making his shoulders look twice as broad. “Um. Do I get some pads, too?”

Andrew gestured expansively to the empty court. “Who exactly are you planning on hitting?”

Neil shrugged. It felt wrong, somehow, to step out there in just his ratty sweats. Andrew gave him a second longer before curling his fingers in Neil’s collar and yanking him over the step.

He stumbled and nearly tripped into Andrew, but he shifted out of the way smoothly, releasing him and closing the door behind them. Neil’s breath caught in his chest at the sound, like a cell door slamming shut.

The reflections off the plexiglass glinted in the steep evening sunlight. He hadn’t been on a court in nearly seven years, but it felt familiar, like greeting an old friend. He stared around, rapt, and would’ve stayed there all night if Andrew hadn’t snorted, deliberately jostling his shoulder as he headed for a small pile of equipment at the first-fourth line. “Junkie.”

Neil followed him readily, leaving his mother locked firmly behind plexiglass walls, pounding her fists on the glass in futility. When they reached the pile of equipment he dropped his pack and Andrew dug a slender aluminium racquet out from under a jumble of cones.

Neil frowned. “That’s a striker’s racquet.”

“A brilliant deduction.”

“I…assumed I would play backliner.”

“Why?”

Neil hesitated, memories of heated arguments between members of his little league team rising in his mind. “Strikers are just a bunch of arrogant gloryhounds.”

“Suits you perfectly then,” Andrew said, tossing the racquet to him. He caught it by reflex, spinning it in his hands. It couldn’t really be compared to the racquets he used in little league. They had been too young to have specialized racquets—except for goalie racquets, which were always flat—though this one, like his old one, was adjustable in length. Probably so it could be used in school gym classes.

Andrew had already adjusted it to the shortest length available. He gave it a few experimental swings as Andrew knocked over the bucket, scattering the balls around them. The light racquet made a satisfying whoosh as it sliced the air.

Andrew stepped out of range and pointed at the goal. “Shoot.”

It was so jarringly abrupt that Neil huffed in something like amusement. “You’re a shitty coach.”

Andrew stared at him, utterly indifferent. Neil resisted the urge to roll his eyes and studied the goal in front of him. The court between him and the painted wall stretched, impossibly distant. Neil shook his head and scooped a ball into his net. It took two tries before he managed to lift it off the ground without dropping it.

Heat started in his ears, and he was desperately grateful that the only person to witness his clumsiness was Andrew. He set his left foot forward and attempted a swing. The ball caught on the rim of his net and bounced out, rolling pathetically a few feet away.

He scowled and scooped another ball off the ground. By the third shot, fragments of his little league coach’s advice started returning, nuggets of technique and posture. His fourth shot left the net cleanly, and the fifth hit the wall a few feet left of the goal.

“You’ve played before,” Andrew observed as he readied another shot.

“Yeah,” Neil said, launching another ball towards the goal. It went wide by a mile, bouncing off the ground and rolling to a stop just shy of the wall.

“Backliner?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid mom used to drive me out of town so I could play where nobody knew who my father was.” He lowered his racquet and studied Andrew. “How did you learn?”

“Juvie.”

Neil waited to see if he’d elaborate, but that was the sum total of his explanation. Neil let him have that bit of stinginess in favour of taking another shot.

Andrew must finally have tired of watching Neil’s limp attempts, because he stopped Neil before he could snag another ball. He took the racquet from Neil’s unresisting hands and fell into a penalty stance. “Don’t use your arms so much. Power comes from the core.”

He scooped up a ball and twisted, slamming the racquet forward. The ball snapped through the air and hit the goal wall dead centre. The sensors were turned off, but Neil still felt a jolt as if the buzzer had gone off.

Andrew held the racquet out to him. “Turn from the hips, using the whole movement.”

Neil took the racquet eagerly and scooped up another ball. Before he could set up for the shot, Andrew stopped him again, moving his hands farther apart on the grip and turning his wrists just slightly. His fingers were dry and callused, only touching Neil for the minimum time required, but it still raised goosebumps on his arms.

“Don’t forget to follow through. The swing doesn’t end when the ball leaves the net.”

Neil nodded, not trusting himself to speak without saying something foolish. Andrew raised an eyebrow but stepped back smoothly to give Neil a clear shot.

Andrew’s advice and the half-remembered words of his little league coach swam in his mind as he lined up the next shot. His mind was so tangled in instructions that his body fumbled, twisting too much and launching the ball so far sideways it cracked off the side of the court.

Part of him was horrified at his aim, but part of him squirmed in delight at the power behind the ricochet. The ball bounced all the way down the court till it hit the end wall.

He made to try again, but Andrew blocked him and readjusted his hands. Neil couldn’t help but grin as he scraped balls back towards him and chose a new one. It took nearly twenty shots before the ball made it between the lines of the goal, but the shot reverberated all the way through his bones.

“Again,” Andrew said.

Neil rolled his eyes at his impatient tone, but he set off to gather the scattered balls without complaint.

\---

In the changeroom afterwards they changed out quickly, unanimously deciding to forgo the drafty temporary shower in favour of using the one at the house. It would be an uncomfortable bus ride since Andrew had let Nicky take the car, but neither of them were keen to shower in the chilly room.

Neil turned away to tug a fresh shirt over his head and scrubbed himself with deodorant even though he would be showering in an hour. He bundled his dirty clothes into a plastic bag and tucked it into his pack before slinging it over his shoulder and turning around.

His mind went white.

Andrew tugged his jeans up over his boxers, his bare chest stark in the harsh lighting. Neil couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d seen Andrew change before, of course, but fleetingly, in a room full of boys Neil wouldn’t look twice at.

He wasn’t toned or defined, like some of the Exy players, but there was no denying the strength in those broad shoulders. He was built like a tank, stocky and unbreakable and just a little soft at the stomach. A bit of blond hair curled tightly on his chest and Neil wondered if it would be soft to the touch, imagined running his hands down that strong, powerful chest and—

Andrew cleared his throat and Neil jumped like he’d been shot, ripping his eyes away from the front of Andrew’s pants and meeting his gaze. He gave Neil a flat look before pulling a shirt over his head and jerking his head towards the door. “The bus is leaving,” he said.

Neil nodded hurriedly, trying not to watch Andrew’s shoulders as he heaved his massive gear bag up, thinking idly that once they got back to the house Nicky would be in the way, and Aaron…

Oh, hell.

“Andrew,” he said, and waited till he looked at him to step into his space and carefully reach out, sliding his hand into Andrew’s hair. Andrew went still but didn’t push him away, and Neil took that as encouragement, tangling his fingers into his soft hair and memorizing the shape of Andrew’s skull under his hand.

“The bus,” Andrew reminded him.

“Yeah,” Neil said, and tugged him into a hungry kiss.

\---

“I was starting to think you two got lost!” Nicky called as they walked in the front door.

“Take it up with him,” Andrew said, thumbing over his shoulder towards Neil, who was abruptly grateful that Exy practice gave him a good excuse to look a bit disheveled.

“We missed the six o’clock bus,” he explained. “We had to wait nearly an hour for the next one.” Andrew had outright refused to walk, even though it probably would’ve been faster.

“Yeah? How was Exy,” Nicky asked, eyes burning with curiosity as he stirred a massive pot of chilli, dressed in slinky black bar clothes and a hot pink Kiss the Cook apron.

“Good,” Neil said, a small smile slipping free. He spent the next ten minutes deflecting Nicky’s questions about _why_ they were playing Exy in favour of talking about their actual practice. A bemused smile grew on Nicky’s face as Neil rambled at length about his first successful shots and the drills they would be starting to refine his aim.

Eventually the shower went silent overhead, which Neil took as his cue to head upstairs and take his own turn. Habit more than anything made him quick in the shower, but in the scant minutes he was upstairs all hell broke loose.

He followed Nicky’s plaintive voice and Aaron’s grumbly one down to the kitchen. “Neil!” Nicky commanded, brandishing his wooden spoon in his direction, splatters of sauce flying everywhere. “Are you going to the dance on Friday?”

Neil frowned and grabbed a bowl, spooning chili out of the pot on the stove. “No.”

Nicky made a loud, frustrated sound. “Why do none of my children know how to have fun?”

“We’re not your children. Andrew and I are legally adults,” Aaron muttered.

“Oh yeah? And when was the last time you came grocery shopping? I do all the cooking and cleaning and nobody appreciates me—”

“When was the last time you cleaned _anything_?”

“You try being a single mother of three sometime! I have to think of my health!”

Neil set himself on a bar stool next to Andrew, who was watching his bickering family with the same blank expression he did everything. Aaron made a disgusted noise. “Neil isn’t your son and neither are we.”

“Oh my _god_ , Aaron, get a sense of humour next time you hit the shops, kay? You’ll never get a date with that attitude.”

“Apparently, I don’t get to date,” Aaron said, acid dripping from his tone. Andrew spooned chilli into his mouth, indifferent.

“Why don’t you just go to the dance and fool around? If you’re worried about getting booze in, I know every trick in the book.”

“I’m not going to any dumb dance,” Aaron said with an air of finality. Neil couldn’t help agreeing with him. He was perfectly happy not to attend; Leona and her friends had been notably frosty towards him the last couple days, and even Beth had scolded him for bluntness. He imagined it was much the same for Aaron with Amilah.

“Then we’re going for ice cream on Friday,” Nicky declared. “I’m not putting up with you killjoys all weekend without ice cream.”

Aaron subsided a little at that, then shot Neil a surreptitious glance. Switching to German, he said, “ _Are we bringing the stray?”_

“Aaron,” Nicky said, swatting him with a towel. “Of course he can come.”

Neil kept his face decidedly neutral, though he was already devising excuses to not go. This week was an away game, so the bake sale wouldn’t be running. He could probably convince Beth to do something.

Aaron chewed on his next words, watching Neil as if daring him to react. “What about the cracker dust?” he said slowly.

“Oh,” Nicky said, looking over at Andrew. “He’s cool, right?”

Andrew ripped a bit of bread and dunked it in his bowl. “He’ll be fine.”

“Awesome! So it’s settled, ice cream on Friday.” He switched back to English and said, “You like ice cream, right?”

It took Neil a moment to realize he was being addressed. He shrugged uncomfortably and shoved a large spoonful of chili in his mouth.

He knew it was a mistake the minute the food hit his tongue. He nearly choked at the heat of it, his cheeks flushing and sweat rising on his forehead as he struggled to swallow it down. He covered his mouth with his hand and gasped, trying to cool his mouth.

“Oh sorry, man. I should’ve warned you,” Nicky laughed. He poured Neil a glass of water from the tap and pushed it towards him. “We like it spicy around here.”

“Noted,” Neil croaked, taking a deep glug and spilling water down his chin, grimacing at the burning sensation that lingered in his mouth and on his lips. He wiped his face and took a smaller, more dignified sip.

“So, what do you say?” Nicky persisted. “Once these guys get back from their game—it’s only, what, an hour away? —we can all go out for ice cream. I work part-time at this place, Sweetie’s, you’ll love it.”

“Um,” Neil said eloquently.

“Please? Don’t leave me alone with these two. It won’t take that long. They’re working that night so you and I will have the whole evening to get to know each other.” He winked roguishly and Aaron groaned.

“Could you at least lay off the gay shit when I’m eating? You’re like, twice his age.”

“Are you calling me old? Rude. Besides, Neil is seventeen. That’s totally legal. Right, Neil?”

“Not as far as you’re concerned,” Neil muttered, picking his slow way through the incredibly spicy chili.

“Aw, you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re shy,” Nicky crooned, sidling around Andrew to try and loop his arm over Neil. He froze with his arm floating over Neil’s shoulders. Neil squirmed away, following Nicky’s gaze to see what had stopped him.

Andrew still sat casually at the counter, expression bland. His knife was in hand, the blade pointed straight at the front of Nicky’s pants. Nicky’s eyes were wide and he eased back, hands held up in a placating gesture. “Heeeey, just joking around,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Harmless flirting.”

Andrew snapped the switchblade closed, the sharp noise killing Nicky’s next words. He brushed himself off and gave Neil a weak smile. “On second thought, you’re not really my type.”

Aaron grumbled something inaudible and grabbed his bowl, slouching off down the hall in a huff.

“Would you look at the time!” Nicky exclaimed. “I gotta get going.” He dumped a few dirty pots and pans into the already over-full sink and skittered around the counter and out of the kitchen.

Neil chewed another mouthful of chili and washed it down with the last of his water, watching as Andrew ripped his bread into a dozen bite-sized pieces. “You’re not supposed to be protecting me anymore,” he said quietly.

“That was not about you. That was about Nicky learning to keep his hands to himself.”

“Hm,” Neil said, only half convinced. “Thanks anyway.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Andrew didn’t look in Neil’s direction, his voice startling in the quiet room. “How old are you really?”

Neil glanced at him. “Seventeen next week.”

Andrew nodded and stood, dumping his bowl and spoon in the sink and disappearing upstairs. Neil picked his way through his chili and spent a few minutes trying to get through a bit of the intimidating pile of dishes cluttering the kitchen. He gave up after a particularly stubborn bit of burnt rice and left half the dishes in the drying rack and the other half in an untidy stack next to the sink.

He hooked his pack over his shoulder, thinking idly that he needed to find somewhere more secure to store it. Maybe he could buy a safe, though that would be a dead giveaway to Aaron and Nicky that he had something to hide.

He rounded the corner into the living room, lost in thought, and jolted when he noticed Aaron sitting on the couch. He paused, not sure where else to go. The house was only so big, and this confrontation was getting harder and harder to avoid.

He eased into one of the two large armchairs flanking the couch and tucked his backpack between his feet. Aaron watched him with keen eyes. It felt weird, like looking at a picture of Andrew that had been slightly modified, flipped, stretched. He couldn’t tell why people always mixed them up.

“Still pretending like there’s nothing up with you and Andrew?” Aaron said, meeting Neil’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

Neil thought for a moment before opting for the truth. “We have a deal.”

“What for?”

“Take a wild guess,” Neil sniped back.

Aaron bristled. “I don’t see what Andrew gets out of you freeloading on our couch.”

“Why don’t you ask him? Oh wait, I forgot—he doesn’t talk to you.”

Aaron lurched to his feet, rattling the coffee table. Neil jumped up too, facing him, glad that for once in his life he actually got to be the tall one. “What the fuck do you know about all that?”

A grim smile played on Neil’s lips. “Maybe I just know better than to make promises I’m not willing to keep.”

“You don’t know shit,” Aaron snarled. “You come in here, looking all fucking homeless and shit, and try to tell me how to deal with my family—”

“I’m not telling you anything. Just thought considering what he did for you, you could be less of a selfish asshole.”

Aaron lunged forward, grabbing Neil’s shirt. Neil staggered but didn’t fight back. Andrew may have only promised to protect Aaron from women, but Neil wasn’t going to push his luck. He caught his balance and stood his ground.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Aaron snapped. “But if you drag us down in whatever shit you’re involved in, I will end you.”

“I’m not afraid of Andrew,” Neil said, letting amusement bleed through in his voice. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

Aaron growled. _There_ was the resemblance to Andrew. He shoved Neil backwards and stalked towards the stairs. “I don’t fucking trust you,” he said, over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Neil said, sitting back down as Aaron stormed up the stairs. He wondered how much of that Andrew heard.

Ice cream on Friday was going to be awkward as hell. He found the remote on the couch where Aaron had been sitting and spent a few minutes messing with it until he figured out how to switch on the TV. He sifted through a few channels before he found one playing Exy reruns and relaxed into the comfortable armchair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your sweet comments, you guys make swimming through the sea of edits worth it. <3 <3 <3
> 
> (also? over a thousand kudos?? whaaaaaat. ilysm)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Valentine's Day Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a very slim technicality, i could tag this as fake-dating
> 
> warnings for mentions of PTSD, and Feelings attacking from all sides

“You have any plans for Valentine’s?”

“No.”

“Want to do something?”

Neil stared at Beth in confusion. “What about Teia?”

“She’s have a boring heterosexual dinner with her parents. Besides, we’re dating remember? You are contractually obligated to spend Valentine’s with me.”

“Right.”

“So, any ideas?”

Neil picked at his nails for a moment before he caught himself. “Uh, well, there’s an Exy game on. I was going to watch that.”

“No. No way. I am not spending Valentine’s day watching freaking _stickball._ ”

\---

Beth stared at the television in resignation. “I can’t believe I’m spending Valentine’s day watching stickball.”

Neil tucked himself into the overly plush armchair. Beth’s house was decorated in bright, blocky colours, the same as the café. The walls were covered in old childhood drawings and photos, some framed, some taped up in collages. Beth herself was lounging on a white and pink couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. “It’s going to be a good game. It’s the death match between Belmonte and Edgar Allen.”

“Great, so we already know who’s going to win. Somebody better actually die.”

“The Raven’s won’t keep winning forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, Teia gave me the lecture. Exy is still only a baby sport but eventually it will mature into a real grown-up sport where teams are actually competitive.”

“We can watch something else if you don’t want to.”

Beth’s extravagant manner dropped into a friendly smile. “I’m just bugging you. Mom left some lasagna, do we have time before the game starts?”

Neil glanced at his watch. “About ten minutes.”

“Excellent. I’ll be back.”

Neil waited till she was out of the room to turn up the volume. A couple commentators were discussing tactics. He leaned forward, listening so intently to the TV that he missed the beep of the microwave.

“You know what the worst part about watching Exy on Valentine’s Day is?” Beth said as she returned, startling Neil. She didn’t wait for him to respond, just plopped a plate of lasagna on the coffee table in front of him and collapsed back onto the couch. “The _worst_ part, is that if I was spending Valentine’s Day with my actual girlfriend, this is probably exactly what we would have ended up doing. I am surrounded by useless jocks.”

She grinned at her own joke and started in on her plate of lasagna. “How’s Exy practice going, by the way?” she asked between mouthfuls.

Neil hummed. “Good.” It had taken nearly a month for his aim to improve enough that Andrew even bothered to get in goal, but it had been, without contest, the best month of his life. Between Exy, Andrew, and Beth he was busy nearly every day. Nicky was determined to teach him how to play video games ever since he found out Neil had never played one, and Aaron mostly kept his bitterness to himself.

“Do you think you’ll try out for the team next year?”

Neil shrugged. Nicky had asked him the same thing and had been put off by his vague answer. The odds of him staying in Columbia that long were small; he’d already lived here longer than any place he’d ever stayed with his mother. There were some solid reasons for that. There were also a lot of excuses. He liked Columbia far too much for his own good.

He pushed those dire thoughts away and dug into his mound of homemade lasagna. On screen, the two team captains met for the coin toss.

“That’s Riko Moriyama,” he said as the camera panned over his haughty, confident face.

“The ‘King?’”

“Yeah. He and Kevin will play the first part of the half, then they’ll play the end of the game.” Beth made a vague noise of assent and he glanced at her. “Sorry. This is probably boring to you.”

She waved her fork dismissively. “You take me too seriously. I don’t mind watching Exy that much. Now if you were a _football_ fan, we might have problems.”

A smile tugged on his lips. “Never.”

“Do you watch all the games?”

“Just when I can get control of the TV. Andrew always complains when I turn on ESPN.”

For a second he didn’t even realize his slip up. “Andrew…” Beth said, an undercurrent of confusion in her voice, and he jolted, glancing towards her.

“Um,” he said. “We don’t have cable at home.”

“Right,” she said. “Okay. Well. If you ever need to use a TV, you can always come over here, too.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, hiding his face in a large bite of lasagna. The Raven dealer started the game, and Kevin got the ball almost immediately. He shot it to Riko, lightning quick, who passed it back to the dealer and bowled over his backliner mark in the process. As the backliner struggled to right himself, the dealer slammed the ball back to Riko.

He tore down the court, using his ten unencumbered steps to line up a perfect ricochet. It went over Kevin and his mark and bounced straight into Kevin’s outstretched racquet. Kevin’s mark, disoriented by the rapid-fire passes, was a step behind. The line to the goal was open. Kevin took three steps, racquet raised.

Hesitated.

It was almost imperceptible, a pause, a hitch in his swing. His backliner charged, aiming for a body check, and Kevin slung the ball to Riko just before he was knocked to the ground.

Riko scored in the next second and the camera left the tangle of Kevin and his mark to zoom in on Riko’s triumphant grin. It had been less than a minute. He thrust his racquet in the air and the cheer that followed was deafening even through the TV.

“Wow,” Beth said softly, jostling his attention away from the Ravens’ fans thunderous celebration. “They really do dominate, don’t they?”

She caught the end of Neil’s frown. “What?”

“Kevin had a clear shot at the goal,” he said slowly. “He could’ve scored before Patel caught up.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Conspiracy?”

Neil shrugged. “He probably saw something I didn’t.”

“Don’t be boring.”

Five minutes later Kevin scored, as if to put any speculation to rest. By the time he and Riko were subbed out, they had netted five goals between them. Kevin one less than Riko, Neil noted.

Beth cleared their plates as the subs started with a penalty shot. Belmonte was getting increasingly desperate, resorting to dirty tackles to try and keep the Raven strikers out of the game. Beth waved away his offer to help with the dishes and vanished into the kitchen for a couple minutes. The replacement strikers didn’t have Kevin and Riko’s flare, but they didn’t make it easy for Belmonte either.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Beth said cheerfully, setting two bowls down on the coffee table. She skewered a strawberry from the first on a toothpick and dunked it in the second. It came up dripping with melted chocolate. “Here you go.”

She held it out for him and he took it hesitantly, cupping his hand so that it wouldn’t drip on the armchair. The chocolate had already hardened. He took a bite tentatively and the chocolate cracked, breaking open to the bright sweetness of the fruit beneath.

Beth speared a trio of blueberries for herself and grinned at him. “Good, huh?”

“Mm,” Neil said, trying to get a bit of melon and managing to drop it into the melted chocolate. Beth laughed at him and deftly fished it out, stealing it for herself. Neil made a face at her and tried a couple different types of fruit before deciding he preferred the fruit without the chocolate and left that bowl to her.

Belmonte recovered a little bit by half time, but the score was 8-4 when the buzzer relieved the exhausted athletes. Not a total disaster, but they definitely weren’t about to witness the Raven’s lose their first match. Beth pushed the chocolate bowl away and pressed the mute button as the TV switched to commercials.

“Can I ask you a favour?” she asked suddenly.

Neil glanced at her, tensing up at her tone. She stared forward at the TV, not making eye contact. “Sure?”

“Do you think you could run the bake sale alone next week? Mom and I were going up to Atlanta to visit dad and we wanted to start the drive earlier so we could get there in time for dinner. We could stash all the bake sale stuff in the Home Ec fridge. Mrs. Macetown will let you in. Or mom could ask one of her friends, that’s okay too.”

Neil relaxed as the rush of words left Beth looking nervous and oddly vulnerable. “That’s fine. I can do that.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“No problem.” Neil didn’t point out that he owed it to her, considering all the free meals he’d gotten courtesy of her and her mother over the last few months.

Commercials played silently on the screen, but he could feel Beth waiting. It was strange, being on this side of it, feeling her tense beside him. It hadn’t escaped him that she almost never spoke about her father, but it wasn’t his business.

It felt like an eternity before she let out a long sigh. “You’re really not going to ask, are you?”

“You’d tell me if you wanted me to know,” he said evenly.

“Shit,” Beth muttered, rubbing her face. For a long moment he thought that would be the end of it, but she started talking, her voice soft. “Dad was in the army.”

He shot her a quick look, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her arms hugged her knees tightly, her eyes pointed unseeing at the TV. “He did three tours overseas. When he came back he was…not okay. Post-traumatic stress disorder. He was trying to deal with it, but…” She trailed off again, gaze distant. “He had an episode a couple months after he got home. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t see me. He was back _there._ ”

Dylan’s ugly accusations clicked in Neil’s mind. He dug his fingernails into the back of his hand, hating Dylan even more for exploiting Beth’s pain. “He hit you.”

Beth made a small, wounded sound and Neil flinched, wishing he hadn’t spoken. “He didn’t mean to. But mom heard him and completely lost it and we all ended up in the hospital. Mom was so mad. I thought she was going to press charges, and dad was crying and it was all just so…horrible.”

She tucked her head between her knees, shuddering. Neil hated seeing her like this, trying to squeeze herself down to nothing.

After a couple seconds she raised her head a fraction. “He moved into a long-term ward for awhile, but he has a place in Atlanta now. I would’ve told you earlier, but it was all over the school last summer and it was just…nice, to be around someone who wasn’t constantly waiting for me to implode. So, yeah. Now you know everything about me.”

Neil stared at his hands. Little crescent indents grew red on his skin, and he thought he could see blood under his fingernails. This was what Beth had been living through the first day at school when she’d first struck up conversation with him. This was what lay beneath everyone’s stare when they asked her how she was doing. He thought of evenings spent in companionable silence, sharing coffee and schoolwork. He thought of her unflinching defence when Teia condemned him, and the many times she’d let his idiosyncrasies slide, allowing him to make obvious excuses without kicking up a fuss.

“The shitty things that happen to you,” he said slowly, “aren’t everything about you.”

The silence lasted so long he had to peek up from his hands and winced. Beth’s hands had come up to cover her mouth and her eyes were bright with tears. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That was, that was really sweet. I’m just—gonna go take off my make up. Back in a minute.”

She gave him a wobbly smile and stumbled up and out of the room, leaving Neil frozen in his seat. He wasn’t sure if he’d said the wrong thing, or if he should follow her. He slouched, curling his shoulders in on himself. The game restarted on screen, but his eyes kept slipping away to check if Beth had returned.

For ten agonizing minutes he waited in front of the TV, unable to either move or watch the game. His eyes caught on a family photo up on the wall. A younger Beth was pinned between her mother—then with a head of wild, tight curls—and a man in a faded red t-shirt. Beth and her father were grinning at the camera. Josephine’s head was turned towards the other two, possibly unaware that their smiles were posed.

A slight scuffle startled him. Beth smiled at him from the doorway, eyes red and tired, and shuffled across the room to collapse on the couch. Neil watched her settle down, sighing as she pulled a knit blanket up over her body. Her cheeks were shiny and freshly scrubbed, but her expression was calm.

“Who’s winning?” she asked, her voice jarring in the silence.

“Um,” Neil managed.

“No wait, let me guess.” She stroked her chin, then made a show of calculating the odds on her fingers. “It’s the Ravens, isn’t it?”

He shot a quick glance at the TV. “Yeah.”

“Going to unmute it, or are you going to commentate?”

“That’s…Beth?”

“I’m okay, Neil. Really. Thank you.”

Neil didn’t know how to go about comforting her, or if he even should. He’d never stuck around long enough to learn other people’s problems, much less care about their resolution. But Beth’s flagging smile made his chest ache with echoed pain.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered finally, when words of comfort didn’t manifest.

“You’re helping me with bake sale, aren’t you?” She grimaced, looking away. “I’m sorry. That’s not what you meant, I know. You do help. You listen, and you don’t make a fuss, and that helps.”

Neil stared at her, confused. “Really?”

“Really. Sometimes it just all builds up and I want to get it out and not have to spent an hour getting fussed over and coddled and just…let it out. Sorry I had to dump it on you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Sure, sure. Now let’s watch this dumb game and forget about all that real-life shit. What did you do with the remote?”

Neil fished it out of the seat cushions and held it out for her, and she unmuted the TV. They settled again, though Neil couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed, even if he understood her desire to not be smothered with reassurance. He shook away those thoughts and tried to watch the game.

Riko and Kevin returned for the last twenty minutes, just to hammer the defeat into Belmonte’s bruised and battered hides. When it ended Beth switched off the TV and stretched, yawning. “You need a ride home? Mom left the car.”

“Uh.” He paused longer than the question should have warranted, but Beth was used to that by now. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Alright, I’ll just grab my coat.” She yawned, shuffling out of the room. Neil rummaged through his pack to find a hoodie, sifting through explanations and excuses in his head. None of them stuck.

Beth led him to the elevator and they rode down in sleepy silence. Her pink and purple pyjamas stood out in the grey parking garage. Josephine’s car was a dark blue sedan, which Neil instantly liked for it’s nondescript profile.

“So, where to?” Beth asked, dropping into the driver’s seat and adjusting the mirror.

Neil started to give her the address, but she stopped him with a self-deprecating laugh and prompted him again once she’d powered up the GPS. She punched in the address when he repeated it and pulled out of the parking garage, checking and double checking around each corner as if paranoid of scratching her mother’s car. They slid through the streets at a pace that Neil found startlingly sedate, after a month of living with Andrew and Nicky’s driving.

He fidgeted with his sleeves and stared out the window, tracking each turn they made out of habit. Beth wouldn’t ask—Beth would never ask. That was their whole thing.

They turned onto Andrew’s street and Beth pulled up alongside the curb. “There you go,” she said, stabbing at the GPS screen to stop it from demanding she U-turn and move five yards back up the street.

Her eyes left the console and travelled up the driveway, skating over the house.

“I moved out of my parents’ house,” he said quietly. He heard Beth move, but didn’t look up. “I’ve been staying on Andrew’s couch.”

He couldn’t risk eye contact. He never acknowledged his fictional home life around Beth, but after all the truth she offered him today, he could give her this tiny piece. She would know how much it meant.

He peeked at her, because she’d been silent too long and he couldn’t keep his head down. Her eyes were still puffy from tears, but her cheeks were dry and her expression solemn. “Is it better?” she asked.

Neil nodded mutely.

“Okay,” she said. “Good.”

His hands shook as he grabbed his pack and clambered out of the car, hating how off balance a tiny confession made him feel. “See you tomorrow,” he mumbled, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

“See you,” she said, reaching across the passenger seat and stopping him from closing the door. “And Neil? If you ever need a change of scenery, we’ve got a pretty nice couch.”

Neil swallowed down the hard knot of emotions in his throat and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She smiled and tugged the door closed. He raised a hand in a wave as she pulled away, as cautious as Andrew was reckless behind the wheel. The car turned past the corner and Neil dropped his hand, plodding up the drive. He dug his key out of his pocket and let himself in.

He didn’t get past the door before someone grabbed him from behind, slapping both hands over his eyes. “Guess who?” Nicky sang, and Neil cursed, willing his heart to restart.

“Fuck, Nicky,” he said, batting his hands aside as he tried to close the door. Nicky only replaced them a second later. “Have you been hiding behind the door all night?”

“No-o,” Nicky pouted, and Neil caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath before he was steered towards the living room, still partially blindfolded. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Nicky,” he said warningly.

“Not that kind of surprise, you naughty boy,” Nicky teased. “Ta-da!”

He released Neil’s eyes and he blinked a couple times before his eyes focussed on the living room.

The lumpy old couch was gone, replaced by a soft grey one. It was currently unfolded into a bed and dressed lavishly in sheets and blankets. “Isn’t it great?” Nicky said, pirouetting past him and flopping down across the blankets, striking a pose that was probably meant to be seductive. “Come on Neil, try it out!”

Neil just stared at him, unable to move, not even to drop his backpack. “Neil?” Nicky said, concern creeping into his voice. “Hey, Neil.” He sat up, reaching for him, and Neil shied back instinctively. “Hey,” Nicky said softly. “Neil. You okay?”

Neil swallowed, but couldn’t remember how to speak. Nicky sighed, stepping towards him gently, like he might a stray cat. He wrapped his arms around Neil’s unresponsive body and rested his chin on his head. “Oh Neil. You break my heart sometimes, you know that?”

Nicky’s warmth couldn’t breach the chill in Neil’s chest. A bed. _His_ bed. He hadn’t had his own bed since—since—

Nicky released him slowly, easing back so he could look at Neil with both hands on his shoulders. “We can send it back. I just thought considering how gross that old couch was it would be a nice change. I mean, you’re practically family now, right? Family doesn’t sleep on the couch.”

The torrent of words finally kickstarted Neil into movement. He jerked his head up, staring at Nicky without comprehension. “I’m not—” he began, got stuck, picked up another thread. “You shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

“It’s not a big deal. We’re not like, poor-poor, you know. We all work, and there’s still a little of Aunt Tilda’s life insurance money left over.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Neil said, voice hoarse.

“No way,” Nicky said firmly. “You didn’t decide to buy it, you’re not paying for it. It’s just a pull-out couch. We can sell it when we move out and it’s no harm, no foul. Okay?”

Neil’s throat felt like sandpaper. “Thank you,” he said, after too-long a pause, but Nicky just smiled and patted his cheek.

“That’s the spirit. Now go wash up and maybe we can still break this bed in before Andrew and Aaron get off work.”

Neil was too jittery to scoff at him, but he took the escape route, his grip on his backpack strap so tight it cut off circulation to his fingers. He shut the bathroom door behind him and locked it, pressing his forehead against the door and shuddering.

He pried his fingers off his backpack, wincing as blood rushed and prickled into his numb skin. The three steps to bathroom sink nearly took the knees out from under him and he had to cling to the sink to keep himself upright. Beth, and then Nicky—he wasn’t equipped to deal with so many emotions in one night.

 _Too many issues,_ Andrew’s voice muttered in his mind and he choked down a hysterical laugh. He splashed cold water on his face, and even though it was late and he’d end up with ridiculous hair in the morning, ran a shower.

He returned to the living room to find Nicky sprawled on his back on the pull-out couch, a bottle of something bright blue and alcoholic tilting precariously against his side. Neil sighed internally. At least in the old building he’d been able to go to sleep whenever he wanted, instead of having to wait for the cousins to vacate the living room.

It was also _cold_ , he reminded himself. It was easy to forget how miserable the cold was when you were warm.

He tucked his pack under the couch—he _really_ needed somewhere more secure to keep it. Nicky and Aaron were starting to speculate about it in German nearly as much as they did about where Andrew and Neil went during evenings that they didn’t play Exy. Their theories ran the gamut from ridiculous to illegal, and Neil didn’t know whether to be amused or offended how often they leaned towards the latter.

He rescued the bottle (raspberry vodka) from its precarious position and set it aside on the coffee table. Nicky rolled over to peer at Neil. His hands pawed at him when he perched on the side of the bed, but Neil pushed him aside easily. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” Nicky sighed. “Valentine’s Day just sucks, you know?”

Neil didn’t prompt him, but he flopped back on the mattress, eyes distant. “I mean, it’s just another stupid day. It’s not like he’s any further away than yesterday, and he was here over Christmas, but skype just isn’t the _same_. Sometimes I think summer can’t come fast enough.”

Neil made a vague noise, stretching out as far from Nicky as he could. The mattress sank as Nicky shuffled closer, twisting his fingers into a lock of Neil’s hair.

“You’re feeling persistent today,” he said dryly, catching Nicky’s wrist before he could try anything else.

“Come on Neil, aren’t you at least curious? How will you know if you never try?”

“I’ve been kissed before.”

“But you’ve never been kissed by a _boy._ ”

Neil sighed. “Yes I have.”

“What?” Nicky tried to sit upright in shock and nearly fell on top of Neil. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“But you still don’t swing?”

“No.”

It didn’t even feel like a lie. He didn’t think his interest in Andrew had as much to do with the fact he was male as it did with the fact that he was Andrew. “Besides,” he added. “You have Erik.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t mind me having a little fun on the side, so long as I go running back to him in the end.”

“Does he know that?” Neil muttered, pushing Nicky’s arm off of him. 

For the first time, Nicky looked genuinely wounded. “Of course he knows! You don’t think I would—you don’t think that badly of me, do you?”

Neil couldn’t hold a scowl in the face of Nicky’s pleading expression. “I know your family,” he said, aiming for humorous.

On anyone else it would’ve fallen flat, but Nicky could string a conversation out of Andrew’s disinterested silence and Aaron’s resentful one. He squealed in protest, smacking Neil with a pillow. “You’re so me-ean,” he whined.

“Ugh,” Neil grumbled, swatting him away. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nicky said. “But you’re not doing your deer-in-headlights thing anymore, so it must be working.”

Neil’s face froze, and Nicky’s eyes went wide with regret. “Oh no. Forget I said that. We were having a sexy pillow fight, remember?”

His arms snaked out and tugged Neil against his chest. He didn’t resist, just let Nicky fold around him. His arms were surprisingly strong. It didn’t make him feel safe and hot and full of longing, the way Andrew’s hands did, but it wasn’t unpleasant either. His mother had never embraced him and his father’s hands had never been anything but cruel. Nicky was something else, something Neil couldn’t really understand.

“I worry about them too,” Nicky murmured, and Neil blinked, trying to figure out this change of direction. “I can’t wait to go back to Germany, but I don’t…I can’t see us ever getting together again, you know? All three of us. They’d never agree to it. I’ll go home and Aaron will go to university and Andrew…”

“Andrew will get a scholarship,” Neil said, with more confidence than he actually felt.

Nicky laughed shakily, vodka-infused breath washing over Neil’s nose. “Yeah. He will. You’ll make sure he signs, right? You’ll make him sign.”

“I can’t make Andrew do anything.”

“You made him teach you Exy.”

“Not for free.”

“Right. Your mystery deal. What did you offer him, anyway?”

Neil made a noncommittal noise. Nicky must be pretty drunk, if he had forgotten the many warnings Andrew had given him over the past month. Nicky sighed, tweaking his hair. “And what about you? Where will you go when we leave?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Nicky’s arms tightened around him for an instant, almost suffocating. “You can stay as long as you want. I won’t let him throw you out, no matter what. You’re our good luck charm.”

Neil barely suppressed a full body flinch. Pinned against Nicky as he was, there was no way he’d miss it. If Nicky knew the danger Neil put him in, put his _family_ in, just by being here—

“I’m not lucky,” he muttered, turning his head away so Nicky couldn’t see his expression.

“Yeah you are. You don’t know what it was like before you got here. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

The rumble of a car engine on the driveway gave Neil an excuse to pull out of Nicky’s grasp. He released him reluctantly, sitting up and patting Neil’s head clumsily. He tried to plant a kiss on his forehead, but Neil dodged easily. “Go to bed, Nicky.”

Nicky ruffled his hair fondly. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, stumbling off the couch and retrieving his vodka.

Neil heard his bright exclamations as Aaron and Andrew came through the door, and their returned grunts, but he didn’t leave the bed. He smoothed his hand over the rumpled pillow, the only familiar thing in the new set up.

It could never be permanent, he reminded himself. He burrowed under the covers, pulling them up over his head to hide his eyes as he removed his contacts. He tucked them into his pillowcase and let the burble of voices wash over him until exhaustion snuffed them out.

\---

A bolt of lightning shot through Andrew’s veins, ripping him out of sleep. His hand closed on the knife under his pillow, free arm lashing out and meeting empty air.

The beep of the coffee maker faded. Andrew cursed internally. He was going to break the infernal thing if they didn’t find a way to muffle that beep. He tucked his knife back under his pillow and lay down, feeling the reassuring lump under his head. His phone read 6:20am. There was only one person in the house who would be up this early on a Saturday. A flicker of annoyance went through him before sinking beneath his awareness.

He wasn’t going to fall asleep again, not with adrenaline still doing the rounds in his bloodstream. He pushed himself upright in resignation and tugged his bands over his forearms.

He padded down the stairs, glancing into the living room. The pull-out couch was already folded up neatly, so Neil had managed to do at least that much without waking Andrew. He found Neil in the kitchen, perched on the counter with a mug of coffee in hand and a plate of toast beside him.

He had to pause to take in the sight. “Sorry,” Neil said. “Did I wake you?”

Andrew ignored him, thinking the answer was self-evident. Neil blinked at him sleepily, his hair in wild disarray, tumbling over his eyes. He wore a t-shirt and his running shorts, his long legs dangling off the side of the counter. Andrew pulled his eyes away and stole a cup of coffee, pouring in a copious amount of vanilla creamer until it was palatable.

They drank in silence for several minutes, the heat and sweetness slowly washing away the clinging remnants of panic from his unexpected awakening. Neil hummed and kicked his heels softly. Andrew could feel his eyes on him but couldn’t muster the energy to tell him off. Four hours sleep, between work and Neil’s ridiculous habits.

Neil drained the last of his coffee and placed his crumb-stained plate in the sink. “I’m going for a run,” he said, and paused as if waiting for Andrew to respond. “Don’t let Aaron and Nicky at my backpack.”

Andrew gave him a flat look. They both knew neither Aaron or Nicky would be up before noon. Neil’s lips twitched as if he knew what Andrew was thinking, and he hopped off the counter. “Back in a bit,” he said, and leaned over to press a small kiss to Andrew’s lips. The ghost of a smile passed over Neil’s face before he vanished down the hallway and out the door.

Andrew waited for the door to swing shut before letting his breath out in a rush, raising an unsteady hand to his lips. The taste of blueberry jam lingered, stealing away Andrew’s breath.

It was stupid. He’d been kissed plenty of times before—kissed Neil plenty of times in the past month. It shouldn’t throw him off balance any more. But Neil kept doing stupid things like that, stupid, presumptuous things like kiss him goodbye and smile that stupid, sweet smile that only appeared when they were alone.

Neil was going to leave. It was inevitable. He drowned the taste of blueberry in sickly sweet coffee, stamping everything down, down where it belonged. _This_ wasn’t an option.

You didn’t shape your life around a boy who’d been born with an axe hanging over his head. Not if you expected to get out of it alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some fluff and nonsense.
> 
> will likely fall off the face of the earth for another little bit, dont fret i am merely travelling i still love you all


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody else was updating their fics so i figured id get in on that energy
> 
> warnings for non-consensual outing, a little remembered gore, and neil and andrew getting fun and sexy (second half of the chapter)

Smoke drifted up into the sky, puffing away in the wind. Neil rested his head against the wall, tipping his head to study Andrew’s profile. His lips were pursed ever so slightly around his cigarette as he smoked it down to the filter.

“Staring,” Andrew grunted.

Neil hummed. Andrew sat on top of the electrical box, and Neil leaned against the wall beside him, watching how the shadows played across his strong jaw. “Teia said there were scouts at your last game.”

Andrew didn’t even acknowledge him, but he was beyond letting that stop him these days. “Do you think there’ll be some at the game tonight?”

Still nothing. “Nicky wants me to convince you to sign.”

“You are deluded if you think it’s possible.”

Neil bit down on a smile at getting an answer out of him. “Have you gotten an offer yet?”

Andrew heaved a put-upon sigh. “JD.”

“Ugh,” Neil said. “They’re a disaster.”

“You make a poor case.”

“It’s not worth making a case for JD. The Foxes wiped the floor with them in the fall.”

Andrew didn’t reply, and Neil stubbed out his cigarette, pocketing the remaining half. He shifted so he was standing in front of Andrew and waited for his eyes to slowly track over to him before stepping forward into Andrew’s space.

“What would it take to get you to sign?”

Andrew blew out the last of his smoke and flicked the butt onto the ground. “A contract would be five years of my life. You think you have anything worth that much to me?”

Neil braced his hands on either side of Andrew’s hips, rocking up onto his toes so that he was eye to eye with Andrew. “I could think of something,” he breathed.

Andrew’s expression was very still, but his pupils dilated, betraying him. Neil tipped forward so their noses were almost brushing. _You deserve a future_ , he wanted to say, but he knew how poorly that would be received.

“Are you trying to whore yourself out for my Exy career?”

“As if you’d let me,” Neil replied, and saw Andrew’s eye twitch in response. He opened his mouth to say something, but Andrew caught him in a kiss to shut him up.

He bit Andrew’s lip in punishment for interrupting him and sighed as Andrew’s hand hooked around his neck to hold him in. His pushed up onto his fingertips, chasing Andrew’s mouth.

Andrew’s fingers dug into his neck and he yelped as Andrew suddenly yanked them apart. He stumbled backwards and felt a spike of panic. Andrew’s knife was in hand and it took Neil a moment to realize it wasn’t pointed at him.

He twisted to look over his shoulder and spotted Sam, stock still, mouth gaping in shock.

“Shit,” Neil said, and lunged at the same time that Andrew did, keeping between them. “Andrew, stop.”

He held his hands up in a blocking gesture and glanced back at Sam, but he’d already bolted. _Shit._ Murder burned in Andrew’s eyes. “I know him,” Neil said. “I’ll talk to him.”

Andrew let out a guttural sound, his grip on his knife tightening. “I know,” Neil said, meeting his eyes. “I won’t let him tell anyone.”

Andrew shoved his chest once, but Neil knew he’d won. He turned on his heel and dashed after Sam, guessing that he’d go try to lose himself in the school. He pushed the door open and hurried through the hall. A few people glanced askance at him, but the halls were still largely empty.

He beelined for Sam’s locker and was rewarded to spot him just down the hall, walking quickly away. Probably seeking out Marco and Liz; the trio were effectively inseparable. Neil caught up to him in a flash, grabbing his wrist and yanking him aside.

Sam’s face was bright red and splotchy. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to—”

“Sam. Sam, stop. Just don’t tell anyone, alright? It’s private.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding quickly. “Of course. But like, it’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“It’s also none of your business,” Neil snapped.

Sam’s entire face was red, even his freckled neck lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah. I just— _Andrew Minyard?_ ”

“Can you keep quiet, or not?”

“Yeah. But—”

Neil blocked him with a cutting gesture. “Just say yes.”

Sam quailed under his glare. “Yes, I promise.”

“Great,” Neil said, turning away and stumping off through the halls.

\---

The bake sale was hectic without Beth there to field most of the small-talk, but Neil thought he’d handled it pretty well. The final rush faded and he started packing everything away onto the cart. There was some sort of disturbance down by the home bench, disguised by the mass of players and spectators that still hadn’t departed.

Neil folded up the table and lay it crosswise on the cart, pushing it all towards the school. Nicky would tell him later if it was anything interesting. He took the left-overs to the Home Ec fridge and locked up, heading for the front door.

He sat up on top of the electrical box and fished out his cigarette from this morning and the lighter he stole from Andrew. He lit it, leaning back against the wall. Several people passed by, giving him weird glances, but he ignored them.

The smoke coiled around him, wafting away the sugary scent of icing clinging to his skin. He closed his eyes, reliving the kiss from this morning. He wondered if he did have anything he could trade for Andrew to take a contract. It seemed unlikely. He had money, but he would need that when he left Columbia.

He shied away from that thought. He knew eventually he’d have to leave, but the idea of leaving felt like a slow-burning poison, creeping through his blood and rotting him from the inside. There was an easy and obvious deadline to his life here. Andrew and Aaron would graduate, Nicky would move back to Germany, and Neil would go back to a life on the run. After so long in the States, he needed to go far, far away to shake his trail.

He glanced up as a crowd of people came around the corner, gravel crunching beneath their feet.

Time stopped.

Neil’s eyes jumped, horrified, from one black-clad figure to the next. Red accents on their clothing. Matching haughty expressions. Stark black lines against cheekbones; one, two.

Riko Moriyama flicked his gaze to Neil and he ducked his head instinctively, bringing his cigarette up to hide his face. Riko’s eyes slid off him, indifferent, and then the Raven’s and their entourage swept past, barely sparing him a glance.

Neil sat, paralyzed for a long moment, then bolted for the court. He hadn’t gone more than halfway when he ran into Teia. She caught his arms, clinging excitedly. “Did you see them?”

“Why were they here?” he asked, even though he knew, there was only one person the Raven’s would be here for. His fingers dug into her forearms before he remembered himself.

“They wanted to recruit Andrew, obviously.”

“Wanted to?”

“It was incredible. Kevin’s all like, standing there in front of a hundred people, telling Andrew he’s street trash but he has potential, and Andrew’s just like _fuck off_.” There was awe in her voice, completely opposite her usual loathing for Andrew. “I don’t think anyone’s turned down the Ravens, _ever._ Kevin looked like he’d been slapped.”

“He turned them down,” Neil said.

It wasn’t a question, but Teia still answered, breathless. He’d never heard her babble like this, but then nothing this exciting had ever happened at Columbia High. “Yeah. A bunch of people got it on camera, so it’ll be on the internet by tomorrow. Basically, Kevin was all high and mighty—” she put on a pretentious voice, “‘We can turn you into what you’re meant to be,’ and Andrew gave him that stare? You know, like you’re invisible. And then he said something about how Kevin made a career about coming second best. Do you think he buys into that theory about Kevin being better than Riko?”

“I have no idea.” Until today, he had assumed Andrew had as few opinions on the Ravens as he did Exy in general.

“Well, it was awesome. Aaand.” She dug into the bag at her side and pulled out a black and red flag. “Signed Raven merch! I thought we could burn it, like a curse or something.”

Neil managed to scrounge up a smile at that. He and Teia rarely talked about anything other than Exy, but even Beth disliked the Ravens on principle. Bashing the NCAA’s number one team was a common topic when the three of them ended up together.

“Sounds fun,” he said, and spotted the cousins halfway around the court. “Uh, I probably need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me know sometime you can come over and we’ll bonfire, okay?”

Neil nodded and peeled away, though a second later he realized he didn’t have to. The cousins were heading his way, Andrew in the lead.

He didn’t so much as glance at Neil as he swept by, Aaron and Nicky in his wake. Neil scrambled to catch up. “Andrew—”

“No,” Andrew said, casual, but Neil shut up immediately. He fell in half a step behind, ignoring the other two.

Memories of Castle Evermore flashed behind his eyelids; a black and red court, a white carpeted room, a flood of blood across heavy plastic. He’d never known how that evening went from Exy to murder, never realized how much of his obsession with Kevin and Riko was bound up in fear until the thought of Andrew in that place was thrust into his face.

They piled into Andrew’s car, Neil taking the front seat out of habit.

“So—” Nicky began.

Andrew turned on the music with a vicious stab of his finger and cranked it up till it was almost deafening. Neil shot Nicky a questioning look, but Nicky just stared back at him helplessly. Then Andrew veered around a corner and he hit the side window, hard.

They pulled up by the house minutes later, significantly more rattled than before, and Aaron and Nicky got out, grumbling at the rough ride. Andrew didn’t move, so Neil didn’t either, and the second the others were clear of the doors Andrew slammed the car into reverse and screeched out into the street, Nicky’s shout chasing them.

Neil clutched the door as Andrew wove a reckless path through the streets and risked turning off the music. Andrew’s fingers tightened on the wheel, but he didn’t turn it back on. “What the hell?” he asked, eyes jumping around in search of cops.

“Shut up.”

Neil scowled but didn’t push. He could already tell they were headed to his old building, where Andrew could vent his frustration in private.

He maneuvered the car around the back, where he could park out of sight, and cut the engine. The silence settled like a dead weight, still rumbling from the heat of the car. Neil took a few calming breaths, watching Andrew’s fingers twist on the wheel like he was imagining crushing the life out of someone.

“Tell me what you need,” Neil said.

“Nothing,” Andrew replied, but the word jostled him into motion. He climbed out and Neil followed. They slipped through the gap in the fence and Andrew wove through the debris filled halls, kicking up dust. He ignored the sparring circle, heading straight for the roof.

He had two cigarettes out and lit by the time they reached the edge of the roof. Neil took his, cupping his hand to protect from the wind. Andrew sat with his feet dangling over the edge, reckless even for him, and Neil settled beside him cross-legged, resisting the urge to grab the back of his jacket when he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

He let Andrew burn his way through two cigarettes in silence. There was a time to push Andrew, and a time to let him breathe. He rarely felt anything at all; the fact that a scout had rattled him meant something.

“I’m surprised your junkie heart hasn’t given out already,” Andrew said, interrupting Neil’s train of thought. “You must be dying to ask.”

“Would I get an answer?”

“No.”

Neil shrugged as if to say, _you see?_ Andrew shot him a glance, a flicker of something in eyes before he shook his head and lit a third cigarette. “That goalie told you, I presume.”

“Teia gave me the basics, yeah.”

“And you didn’t even ask for an autograph. Aren’t you supposed to be a Ravens fan?”

“Not really,” Neil said, turning to survey the smog settling over the city.

“Your fanboy binder says otherwise.”

“It’s not that.” He toyed with his half-burnt cigarette, running the words over in his head. “I met them, once. When I was a kid. We played Exy together. It was only a few days before mom and I ran.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Yeah,” Neil said softly. “They had everything. And I never even got to keep my name from one town to the next.”

“I won’t sign with them.”

“I know,” Neil said, and Andrew shot him another look. Neil thought of the Ravens as a team, their eerie synchronicity, the haughty arrogance and clipped manner of speaking. He couldn’t fit that around Andrew, even if he didn’t have his own reasons for not wanting Andrew anywhere near them. “You’d end up slaughtering all of them when they tried to make you toe the company line.”

Andrew stared out at the city, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. Neil wondered when he’d learned to read Andrew so easily. Or was it that Andrew had simply grown more expressive?

“I thought you’d push me to sign.”

“There will be other contracts. Most teams have more space to exist outside of Exy.”

Silence fell between them. Neil chewed on the end of the Evermore story, the three of them in the white room with blood pooling in the plastic.

He let it go. Andrew wasn’t going to sign with the Ravens. That was enough.

“You’re going to have to stop pretending you don’t care about Exy now, you know,” he said.

Andrew gave him a flat look. “I rejected the contract, or have you already forgotten?”

“And then spent the afternoon being a massive drama queen. That’s not the behaviour of someone who doesn’t care.”

“Exy is meaningless.”

“And yet,” Neil said, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Andrew grabbed his wrist, knocking the cigarette out of his hand. “I dislike hypocrites,” he said. “It has nothing to do with the stupid game.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, and lunged forward, stealing away Neil’s retort with his lips. Neil startled, a smile pulling at his mouth before Andrew nudged his lips apart and deepened the kiss. He slid one hand into Andrew’s hair, pulling at it softly as Andrew’s tongue curled around his.

Andrew’s fingers squeezed tighter around his wrist and Neil broke off, glancing down as Andrew guided Neil’s hand up to his chest.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” Andrew said, and tugged him in for another heady kiss. Neil splayed his fingers over Andrew’s jacket, his body heat soaking through the leather.

Andrew had let him do this a handful of times, clearly feeling out where the boundaries lay, and Neil, for his part, didn’t mind being experimented on. He slid his hand up, slowly, to curl over Andrew’s shoulder, running his thumb along the line of his collarbone. He made a small, pleased sound and ran his fingers over the firm muscles of his pecs, slipping his hand inside Andrew’s jacket.

Andrew growled, biting down on Neil’s lip and rolling it between his teeth. Neil’s fingers clenched helplessly, clutching his shirt. Andrew’s free hand slid up his jeans, squeezing just a little into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. His body reacted, heat shooting out from the points of Andrew’s fingers, and he broke the kiss, panting.

“Andrew,” he mumbled, as Andrew slid his hand just high enough to brush against the bulge forming in his pants. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Andrew said immediately, and knocked Neil backwards, climbing over him. Neil shuffled back, away from the edge, and Andrew followed, planting his lips on Neil’s throat and sucking so hard Neil’s head arched back against the concrete.

“You can touch me,” Andrew muttered, almost resentfully, hiding the permission in a scrape of teeth. Neil felt his breath against his skin and exhaled, relaxing against the hard ground.

“Where?”

“Waist up,” Andrew replied, and shuddered as Neil slid his hands up his back, guiding him up so he could lavish attention on the sensitive skin of his neck. Andrew grunted, dropping down onto his elbows and turning his head to hide his gasp in Neil’s hair.

Vicious pleasure spiked through him at the obvious effect he had on Andrew. He wondered, if their time wasn’t so limited, if he had years to gain Andrew’s trust instead of months, if Andrew ever would have let him push him down like this. He knew just what he’d do if Andrew let him, and he let the fantasy of going down on him bleed into the way he kissed him, open mouthed and wet, never quite hard enough to mark.

Andrew yanked at Neil’s hair, interrupting his fantasy, and kissed him, hard, his tongue slipping between Neil’s lips and drawing out a heavy sigh. Neil arched his back, digging his fingers into Andrew’s shoulder blades and squirming to alleviate the growing tightness in his jeans.

“Neil,” Andrew growled, and Neil went as still as he could manage, blinking up at Andrew. His hazel eyes were dilated, dark with a hunger that Neil felt to his core.

“Don’t move,” Andrew said. Neil flattened his hands on his shoulders, nodding so their noses brushed together. Muscles bunched under Neil’s hands, but for a long moment Andrew did nothing.

Then, ever so slowly, he lowered himself so he sat across Neil’s legs.

“Andrew,” Neil whispered, barely daring to breath as Andrew let his weight rest on him, his hot thighs framing Neil’s hips. Warmth doubled back between their legs, making Neil’s chest tight with want.

Andrew sat, frozen, the only indication that he was alive the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Andrew,” Neil mumbled. “You’re—” _amazing, you’re so hot, don’t stop._ “Is this okay?”

As if by massive force of will, Andrew’s eyes refocussed on Neil. He shifted his weight and the front of his pants brushed against Neil’s, sending a dizzying shot of heat through him. “Andrew,” he whispered, clinging desperately to coherent thought. “You have to—”

 _You have to say it,_ was lost as Andrew rocked forward, his erection rubbing at Neil’s through their jeans. Air knotted in his lungs and his fingers dug into Andrew’s shoulders convulsively as he moved again, slow, more of a push than a grind.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Andrew hissed, grabbing Neil’s jaw and angling him up for a kiss, their bodies so close Neil felt Andrew’s stomach brush his.

“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing back with barely concealed reverence. His hands made their way to Andrew’s hair, too desperate to risk crossing a line.

They clung together, kissing hungrily. Wound so close, every breath pressed them together, sending heat in waves through Neil’s core. He moaned Andrew’s name as his hand slipped down off Neil’s jaw, digging his thumb into his pulse point. He wanted to buck his hips up against Andrew, he wanted to tell Andrew how good it felt, he wanted to whisper that Andrew was perfect, was gorgeous and strong and so, so hot, he wanted, he wanted, he _wanted._

He’d never wanted anyone before Andrew, and some days it still felt like the sudden well of desire inside him might drown him.

He settled for kissing every part of Andrew in reach as he crowded ever closer, pressing kisses onto his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, sucking his earlobe into his mouth for a second before Andrew hissed and jerked his head away in that way he did when he didn’t want to admit he liked something.

Neil hummed against his throat, heat disassembling his thoughts. “Andrew,” he sighed, nuzzling into the damp skin.

“Shut up.”

Neil hummed again and Andrew growled, yanking out reach. He sat up and Neil let his hands drop to the concrete above his head as Andrew watched him, trying and failing to look impassive with his lips swollen from kissing.

His hands slipped up Neil’s shirt almost absently. Neil’s eyes closed, letting his attention follow the burning heat of Andrew’s palms travelling up his ribs. The tightness in his pants demanded attention but he choked down a plea, knowing nothing would speed Andrew up when his expression was so deliberate.

Rough callouses brushed over the buds of his nipples, stopping when his shirt was bunched up to his armpits and then making their slow way back down his front. He clenched his thighs and his arms, his elbows rising into points in front of his face as he clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. Shivers wracked his body as Andrew’s palms flattened across his stomach.

Abruptly, Andrew’s hands disappeared, but Neil didn’t have time to complain before Andrew got his zipper open and pulled his straining cock out of his boxers.

And then he heard the sound of another zipper, and his eyes shot open.

“Andr—”

 _“Shut up._ ”

He did, only because he couldn’t form any sort of words as something hot and smooth slid along his cock. He heard Andrew’s soft intake of breath and could comprehend nothing beyond the shape of Andrew’s cock, the bite of his zipper where it brushed Neil’s skin.

Andrew’s hand wrapped around them both and started moving carefully, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin them together. Neil gasped and shuddered, not bothering to hide how wrecked he was, and Andrew gradually sped up, rubbing his palm over the beads of precum forming and jerking his damp hand in that rough rhythm that had Neil’s mind blurring at the edges. He trembled from the effort to not thrust upwards against Andrew’s hand, his toes curling and hands clawing at the concrete above his head.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Andrew, you’re so—”

“Shut up,” Andrew snarled, attempting to slap his free hand over Neil’s mouth and missing, his fingers slipping off Neil’s cheek to hit the ground beside him. Neil groaned at the sudden change of angles, dropping his arms out of the way so he could tip his head up for a kiss.

Andrew obliged him. It was sloppy and wet and neither of them cared as Andrew continued jerking them off relentlessly, knuckles brushing Neil’s shuddering abs, wrist twisting just so that their cocks rolled a little against each other.

Andrew’s hips rocked forward once, twice, and the friction finally knocked Neil over the edge. He cried out, back arching as pleasure swept through his entire body. Moisture escaped from the corner of his eyes as Andrew’s hand kept moving, squeezing out the last waves of heat and he gasped as he came down, collapsing loosely on the concrete and peeling his eyes open.

He stared up at the cloud streaked sky, languid and relaxed as Andrew tucked him back into his jeans and settled heavily across his thighs. Warm liquid cooled rapidly on his stomach, exposed to the evening air. 

He forced his eyes to move to Andrew, sliding over his sweaty face. “Did you come?” he croaked.

Andrew shook his head. Neil nodded, staying where he was. Andrew wasn’t shy about telling him to go when he needed him to, and with Andrew straddling him he couldn’t move if he wanted to. He could feel the tip of Andrew’s cock brushing his stomach, but he didn’t dare look. He knew how hard it was for Andrew to trust him like this.

Beads of sweat glittered on Andrew’s nose. His shoulders were tense, bulging with muscle. The air chilled as a minute passed and then another. The cum on Neil’s stomach congealed and he itched with the nearly overwhelming desire to wipe it off.

Finally, when he could no longer stand it, he said, “Hey.”

Andrew’s eyes dragged away from their empty contemplation of Neil’s stomach. Making sure to move slow, he propped himself up on one elbow and reached up with the other hand, stopping just before he touched Andrew’s hair. “Can I?”

Andrew exhaled, dark eyes fixed on Neil’s. “Yes,” he said, and Neil knew they were already treading on thin ice. He tried to communicate his understanding by brushing his fingers through Andrew’s hair before pulling him down into a kiss.

Andrew immediately took control, sliding his tongue into Neil’s mouth and pushing him back down onto the ground. Neil wasn’t fooled. He knew vulnerability when he saw it, and Andrew reeked of it, even as he used one hand to pin Neil down.

The vibration moved through both of their bodies as Andrew began to stroke himself again. Warmth simmered in Neil’s chest and he passed his fingers through Andrew’s hair again and again, trying to coax a shiver out of him.

It didn’t take long till Andrew’s breathing went ragged again, grunting against Neil’s lips. Neil covered his mouth in kisses, the few faint noises Andrew made sending thrills through his spent cock.

Andrew’s hand clenched almost painfully on Neil’s shoulder and something warm spattered his stomach. Neil swallowed Andrew’s groan with a kiss, trying to bury the glowing warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his recent orgasm.

Andrew tolerated the attention for only a moment before heaving himself away. Neil kept his eyes on the sky until Andrew wiped his hand roughly across his stomach, smearing the cum onto the concrete. Reluctantly, he sat up, his back cracking from being pinned to the hard, chilly ground. He tugged his shirt over his sticky front and turned back to Andrew.

He’d zipped his pants and coat back up, armour replaced. Still, he sat only a few feet away, toying with his lighter. The agitation that had plagued him since the incident at the court was gone, replaced by a slower, calmer indifference. His face lit up in bright contrast, the tiny flame reflected in his irises.

“We can stay here tonight,” Neil offered. “If you don’t want to deal with them yet.”

Andrew slanted him a cool look. “You think I want to sleep here?”

Neil shrugged. “Nicky’s going to be intolerable for a few days. Might as well put it off a little longer.”

“I’m not sleeping in your pile of rags.”

A faint huff escaped Neil’s lips. His blankets were getting rather stained, but really, who’s fault was that? “I guess they could use a wash.”

“They could use being burnt,” Andrew said, and stood. “We’re going.”

Neil nodded and stood, following him down the ladder and closing the trapdoor behind him. They settled into the car for the drive home and Neil leaned against the window, studying Andrew’s profile in the yellow street light. He looked as calm and unshakeable as ever, but the memory of their bodies pressed together lingered under Neil’s skin.

“Staring,” Andrew grunted.

“Hm,” Neil said, but he looked away, touching his neck where Andrew had kissed him earlier. He was always careful not to mark him, but sometimes his skin tingled with such energy he didn’t know how it wasn’t visible. “Do you ever worry they’ll figure this out? Aaron and Nicky.”

“There is no this,” Andrew said. “This is nothing.”

Neil pursed his lips, shoving down the stupid part of him that was disappointed with that answer. Nothing was all they were allowed to have. Andrew remembered, even if Neil felt the lines blurring some days. “Fine,” he said. “Do you think they’ll ever figure out we’re not actually running an illegal weapons-smuggling ring out of the trunk of your car?”

That at least got him a skeptical glance. “Nicky’s latest theory,” he clarified. “I heard him and Aaron talking about it the other night.”

“How much longer do you think you can keep up this farce that you don’t understand them?”

“As long as I have to,” Neil said, though truthfully, he’d nearly gone off on Aaron twice and Nicky three times just in the past week. They were shockingly free with their opinions when they thought Neil didn’t understand, and while he could ignore their comments about him, their complete misunderstanding of Andrew grated on him. “I prefer to know what they’re thinking before it becomes a problem.”

“And is it a problem?”

“No. They’re clueless.”

“So you have your answer.”

Neil let out a discontented hum but dropped the subject. They pulled up to the house and Andrew let them in. Nicky came crashing through the door almost immediately after, wild eyed with excitement. “You’re back!”

Andrew cast him an icy glare, and he froze, but recovered quickly and draped himself over Neil. “You’ll never believe this! Our Andrew is famous! Half a million YouTube view already!”

“You posted it to YouTube?”

“Not _me._ I like my skin intact, thanks. But at least three other people posted it, it’s already gone viral. Anyways, I ordered curry, figured a celebration was in order—”

“I’m still not signing,” Andrew said, shoving past into the kitchen. Neil heard the sink cut on and then Nicky tugged him aside urgently.

“You said you’d make him sign!”

“You said that,” Neil replied, ducking out of under Nicky’s arm. “I never agreed.”

“It’s the _Ravens._ This is the greatest thing that could have ever happened!”

“He doesn’t want to play for them.”

Nicky’s gaze flicked towards the kitchen and he towed Neil into the living room. “That’s not all,” he said in a hurried whisper, pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping the screen a couple times. He held it out, a sports news banner glowing red over an article entitled _The Prince and the Pauper._

Neil took it, frowning as he read the opening paragraph. It contained a link to the YouTube video and a brief summary of what happened, then:

_Perhaps it is for the best. Kevin Day may be the Prince of Exy, but Andrew Minyard has humbler origins. On first inspection he appears sympathetic, a former foster child turned Exy prodigy. But Minyard has a dark secret: the skills the Raven’s coveted were learned in a juvenile detention centre, where Minyard spent three of his teenage years._

_That’s right, three years languishing behind bars after a botched B and E—_

Neil made a noise of disgust, closing his hand over the phone to hide the article. “You see?” Nicky said helplessly.

“Juvenile records are supposed to be sealed,” Neil said. “How did they get that?”

“I don’t know, but Neil, that’s after a couple _hours_. They’re going to be dissecting his whole life within a week.”

His fingers curled on the phone so tightly he thought it might crack. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Other schools will see it. What if it stops them from scouting him? What if turning down the Ravens means he doesn’t get any other offers?”

“It’ll be fine,” Neil said forcefully.

“What?” Andrew asked, and Neil jumped, spinning to find Andrew in the doorway with a carton of takeaway.

He glanced at the phone. The article was still open, so he passed it over, ignoring Nicky’s strangled sound of protest. Andrew’s expression didn’t budge as he scrolled, getting a lot further than Neil had before turning off the screen and dropping it on the coffee table.

“They shouldn’t have been able to get that information,” Neil said when it became evident Andrew wouldn’t react.

“Cops leak,” Andrew said. “You would know.”

Neil flinched, glancing at Nicky, but he was too preoccupied to notice the dig. “It’s not too late,” Nicky said. “They left a contract with Coach Brent, I’m sure if you apologized—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No,” Andrew said, voice so flat it squashed Nicky’s like a lead weight.

“Neil,” Nicky murmured, casting him a pleading glance.

“Legally, a juvie record is sealed. It’s not allowed to count against you,” Neil said. “This will blow over.”

The surety in his voice felt fake, but he left the room, going to shower and clean off quickly before eating. Andrew wasn’t going to sign with the Ravens, and he was constitutionally incapable of making a public statement to repair his reputation. All Neil could do was hope when the next offer came, it came with a little less hostility.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the plot uhhh finally arrives i guess. 
> 
> BONUS: an unedited snippet i wrote like a million years ago that didn't fit the final draft of the chapter 
> 
> Sam pushed the door open with a bang. He dropped his pack and walked into the living room, where his sister Cathy was painting her nails. “Hey short-stop, what’s up?” she said teasingly. He’d recently surpassed her in height, but she was never going to let that joke go.
> 
> All Sam could manage was an incoherent groan as he collapsed on the couch. 
> 
> “What drama is this?” she asked.
> 
> “Ngh.” 
> 
> “Oooh this must be good,” she hopped up and leaned on the back of the couch to stare down at him, her hands splayed out to protect the fresh polish. “I know, is it about that boy you like.”
> 
> Her joking smile slipped into something more sympathetic when Sam failed to retort. “He’s got a girlfriend?” she guessed gently.
> 
> “Worse,” Sam said, dropping his hands from his head, “He’s got a _boyfriend_.”
> 
> \---  
> also i made an aftg blog @writingpuddle on tumblr come yell at me about stuff if you want or idk whatever fic writers do on tumblr
> 
> *edit* at what point do you cross the line from mature to explicit? Should I up the rating or?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *appears out of the wilderness*
> 
> as many of you predicted....its time for some Foxes. and some erratic POV shifts because. i wanted to
> 
> (Coach brent is literally just an excuse to set dan wilds on my old high schools sexist football coach i will not apologize)

 

Dan tapped her fingers along the edge of the desk, scanning the cheesy and horrible motivational posters lining the walls of the office. _You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don’t Take!_

She glared at the offending sign. The office reminded her too much of her old high school. She wondered if Andrew Minyard wanted out of it as badly as she had wanted out of hers.

The door clanged open, scraping against the floor like it hung wrong in its frame. Wymack stood and Dan followed, greeting the two coaches as they entered.

“Brent Hort,” the first man said, a wide grin on his lips. “This is my assistant coach, Paul Hernandez. You’re here about Andrew, I assume.”

“David Wymack,” Wymack said. “This is Dan Wilds.”

Brent smiled vaguely and stared straight through her. Fuck it. She was pretty sure Allison had been the opposite of serious when she said they should have electric orange team jackets, but she was doing it. She was sick to death of people acting like they were invisible.

“You’ve, ah, seen the news?”

“We’ve seen the video, yes. It doesn’t concern us.”

“Great, great. I’m thrilled, obviously, but I was just wondering…I mean, I never submitted Andrew’s file to you?”

“I did,” Paul said. Brent shot him a startled look. He shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Great! So you know the situation. He’s been a bit of a handful, but nothing we can’t handle here, of course.”

“Of course,” Wymack said dryly.

“Do you have a copy of his file with you? Or perhaps your secretary—”

The air in the room went frigid. Dan straightened, her shoulders bunching and fists clenching at her side. “That’s _Captain_ Dan Wilds, to you,” she said, the words etched in ice.

“Oh,” Brent said. “Of course. You can see my mistake, kind of unusual, you know—”

“So Paul,” Wymack said loudly, turning his body so as to neatly cut Brent from the conversation. “We’ve seen the file, now we need to meet the kid. If you wouldn’t mind?”

He gestured at the door. Paul nodded, shooting Dan an apologetic look, which she returned with a glare. “He’s still on the court,” Paul said. “I should warn you, he is somewhat…abrasive.”

“Nothing we’re not used to,” Wymack said, cutting in front of Brent as he tried to lead them outside. Yup, orange jackets. With big letters saying CAPTAIN on hers. Humility was for people who could fucking well afford it.

\---

A grin rose in Neil’s cheek as they started their scrimmage. It was an unfamiliar expression, one that made his face hurt, and it felt amazing. He raked a couple of balls closer to him and set himself into position to take another shot.

A crash from the goal startled him. Andrew smacked his giant goalie racquet against the wall again and held it towards Neil, deliberately shifting his grip.

Neil imitated him, adjusting his grip until Andrew nodded curt approval and fell back into his goalie stance. Neil scooped up a ball, taking a hard swing.

He fell into a rhythm, hurling balls towards the goal. Andrew shot them all back at his feet and he danced backwards to avoid breaking his ankles. After barely two months there was no way he could actually get a ball past Andrew, but that didn’t stop a fierce thrill rising in him at the contest. Every few shots Andrew smacked the goal to get Neil’s attention and offer half-hearted corrections.

They’d only been at it a few minutes before a banging on the court wall startled Neil out of his focus. He stumbled to a halt, staring over at the group standing by the court entrance.

“Minyard,” Brent called over. “Get over here.”

Andrew slung his racquet over his shoulder, glancing at Neil once before trudging over to the door. He followed the group into the small field office, leaving Neil alone in the middle of the court.

Neil hesitated, a dozen balls littering the ground around him. He shot a glance towards the goal. He could probably get a bit of practice in while Andrew was gone…

He began to gather the scattered balls into a pile, his eyes sneaking towards the field office every couple seconds. It had been nearly two weeks since the Ravens scout, and nobody had approached Andrew since. Neil fidgeted, spinning his racquet in his hand.

He shook his head and headed for the door, leaning his racquet against the wall and slipping off the court. He skulked next to the office door, straining to hear anything through the thin walls.

It turned out he didn’t have to. Before he could get settled on the bench, the door burst open.

“You little fucking puke—” a woman’s voice snarled.

“Wilds!” a man snapped, and the woman cut off immediately. “Out. Don’t come back till your heads on straight.”

“My heads not the fucking problem,” she snapped, stalking out of the office. The door slammed closed behind her, so no one but Neil witnessed her kick the wall of the court so hard she nearly fell over.

She spun on her heels as if to go find something more breakable to wreck and froze when she spotted Neil.

“Hey,” she said, glancing back at the wall a little sheepishly. “Uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Neil said automatically.

She studied him, eyeing his second-hand gear, and Neil struggled not to squirm. She was several inches taller than him, built entirely out of lean muscles.

“I’m Dan,” she said, holding out her hand. “Danielle Wilds, Captain of the Palmetto State Foxes.”

“Oh,” Neil said, glancing back at the office. He’d suspected scouts, but the Foxes?

Belatedly, he took her outstretched hand, trying to ignore the smooth arch of her brow. “Um,” he said. “I’m Neil.”

Dan brightened. “You’re friends with Teia!”

Neil dropped her hand quickly, and Dan laughed, holding her hands up. “She got me to sign some merch for you earlier. Um, act surprised when she gives you that.”

“Right,” Neil said. “Thanks.”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” she said, casting a dark look towards the office. “Are they always like that?”

Neil considered asking _like what_ but he settled for a shrug. “Yes.”

“Even that bullshit coach?”

“Yes.”

Dan grumbled something under her breath. “If we make it through the season without a murder, it’ll be a goddamn miracle.”

“He probably won’t sign anyway,” Neil said. “He’s turned down everyone else. He’s not really interested in playing Exy.”

“You don’t know Coach,” Dan said confidently. “He’ll talk him around. Besides, we have a few tricks up our sleeve.”

“Like what?”

“Secret. You’ll find out when it works.”

“Right.”

Dan leaned against the court wall, inspecting it idly. Neil stared at his hands, wishing he hadn’t left his racquet on the court so at least he’d have something to hold onto. He fidgeted with his sweaty gloves and hoped Dan would ignore him.

She turned her thoughtful gaze from the court back to Neil. No such luck. “How did you do it?” she asked.

Neil shot her a perplexed look, and she waved her hand in clarification. “I’ve seen his tapes. He’s talented, but he barely puts in the minimum effort. Just now he looked more focussed than any video I’ve seen.”

Neil weighed his answer between too personal and too vague. “Those games don’t really matter to him,” he said eventually. “Making me look like an idiot does, though.”

“How’d you convince him to train with you?”

“I asked.”

“You asked,” she said slowly. “Look, as someone who has to deal with a team of jumped up testosterone assholes every day, I’m a little skeptical.”

Neil shrugged. He couldn’t tell her more without getting into things that were private. He gestured vaguely at the wall, which had a small smudge where she’d kicked it. “What caused the—?” 

“The usual bullshit,” she said, a sour expression crossing her face. “I know we’re dead last. Doesn’t mean I’m not fucking sick of hearing about it. If I have to listen to that shit all season, I’ll probably kill them myself.”

Neil froze. Dan hadn’t seemed to notice her misstep. A surge of hope rose in his chest like a tide. “Them,” he said. “You’re signing both of them.”

Dan froze too, then barked a rueful laugh, running her hand over her shaved head. “We’re signing _all_ of them,” she admitted. “Nicholas used to play backliner. We scrounged up some of his old stats. Not exactly Class 1 standard, but we’ll whip him into shape over the summer. So what do you think, we have a shot now?”

Neil looked down to hide the fierce grin growing on his lips. “Maybe,” he said, trying to push down the hope that kept bubbling up inside him, relentless. Andrew would agree, if it meant keeping Aaron for a few more years. Would Aaron? Nicky had barely stopped talking about his impending return to Germany for months. It was far from a done deal.

“You seem to know them pretty well,” Dan said. “Any advice?”

Neil rubbed his face to wipe away his grin, considering the question. “Aaron’s an asshole, but if you leave him alone he won’t be a problem. Nicky is well meaning, but he’s a coward. He’ll never contradict his cousins. Andrew…” he trailed off. How to summarize Andrew?

“Andrew is Andrew,” he said eventually.

“Right,” Dan said, sounding amused. “Thanks.”

The office door opened and Neil jumped to his feet. A large man with tribal flame tattoos burning up his arms exited first, followed by the cousins. Neil stared openly, searching their faces for some sign of what had transpired within. For once, Aaron and Andrew bore the same unreadable expression. Nicky revealed a little more, his eyes wide and overwhelmed.

Neil’s eyes shot between them, but no one offered any explanation. “Change out,” Andrew said. “We’re done here.”

Neil searched his expression for a long moment but found nothing. Andrew made a shooing gesture and Neil spun quickly, nodding a goodbye to Dan as he headed back to the court to fetch their abandoned equipment, hope a wobbly, unfamiliar mass in his throat.

\---

Dan watched the group retreat, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Who’s that kid?” she asked, pointing to where Neil was fetching a bucket of balls and cones from the court, following the cousins into the makeshift changerooms.

Paul squinted after them. “Oh, him. He’s not on the team. Neil…Josten, I think? He’s a junior.”

Wymack eyed Dan, probably wondering what had cooled her temper so quickly, but for once she ignored him. “He’s training as a striker.”

“Yeah.” Paul grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “Interest of full disclosure? We have no idea what the hell happened there. Back at the beginning of the year Andrew and one of our strikers had an argument in the changerooms and Neil intervened. Andrew almost stabbed him. Couple months later—”

He waved his hand towards the court. “It’s the closest Andrew’s come to making friends since he transferred here.”

“Huh,” she said, turning to Wymack. “So? Are they ours?”

“Yep,” Wymack said, situating himself between her and Brent. Smart. Also, asshole. “Not officially, but they’ll sign. I give it a day or two. Got your eyes on a new recruit?”

Dan shrugged. “We only saw him play for about thirty seconds.”

Paul looked torn, chewing his cheek awkwardly. “I don’t know how he is on the court, but if it’s true what they saw about your recruiting standards—”

“It is,” Wymack said coolly.

“—then he probably qualifies. We’ve got no proof, but some of the coaches suspected he was breaking into the changerooms at night to sleep.” He shrugged with obvious discomfort.

“Before they burned down, you mean.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Before that.”

“What happened there, anyway?”

“Arson,” Brent interjected in a tone of forced joviality. Dan shot him a dirty look, but Wymack blocked it. “Kid on our team actually, same guy Andrew tangled with. Been a hectic fucking year, that’s for sure.

If he was seeking validation from Wymack, there was none forthcoming. “Well, if he makes the team next year, send us his file. Seems like our type. Now let’s get the hell out of this town.”

\---

By the time they got home Neil was almost vibrating with pent up energy.

“I’ve got to…” Nicky mumbled, checking his phone. “Fuck. It’s 2a.m.”

It took Neil a couple seconds to realize he meant German time. “I’ll just—” He’d never seen Nicky so lost for words. “I’m going to go upstairs,” Nicky announced, straightening up. No one protested. Aaron followed him and Andrew situated himself on the couch, tossing the bundle of contracts on the coffee table without a glance.

Neil itched to grab them and read every detail. He refrained. Instead, he asked, “Can I use your phone?”

Andrew pulled it out of his pocket wordlessly. Neil took it and retreated to the kitchen, punching in the number by memory.

Beth picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” she said, sounding suspicious.

“It’s Neil,” he said.

“Neil! I didn’t know you could use a telephone! Have you finally joined the twenty-first century?”

“It’s Andrew’s phone,” he said. “Are you busy?”

“Teia and I are marathoning Star Wars. Want to come over?”

Being friends with Beth was so easy sometimes. He didn’t even have to drop a hint to get an invitation. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked, because he knew enough about relationships to be cautious.

“Nah, mom’s here she’s just sleeping in the next room.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

He hung up, belatedly realizing that probably _goodbye_ was the standard end to a phone conversation. He shouldered his pack and detoured to the living room to return the phone before heading out.

The buses to Beth’s house ran every hour, but Neil was too impatient to wait. He set off at a jog, his pack thudding against his shoulder blades with every step. Sweat stuck to his shirt and hair but he persisted, winding his way through the narrow streets.

It took over half an hour to reach Beth’s apartment building and by the time he had he regretted the choice to run. He was soaked in sweat and probably reeked and he grimaced while he rang the buzzer. Beth buzzed him in and he stood in the elevator trying to dry his face on his damp t-shirt and getting nowhere fast.

“Neeeeeeil,” Beth sang as he entered, swamping him in a hug. A second later she recoiled a little. “Neil, gross, did you run here?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Uh, I’ll just clean up quick.”

“Please do,” Beth said, holding her nose and making a childish face at him. He rolled his eyes and slipped into the bathroom.

He left wearing a different shirt, feeling slightly refreshed from splashing his face with cold water. He stashed his backpack next to the couch and waved at Teia, who lay on the couch with Beth’s head pillowed on her stomach.

“Hey shrimpy,” Teia said, grinning. “I’ve got a present for you.”

“I know,” Neil said, folding himself into his usual chair.

“You know?” she asked in outrage.

He let a small smile turn the corner of his mouth. “I ran into Danielle Wilds after practice. She likes you.”

“She does? Oh my god, what did she say? I mean, no offense babe, but I would let that woman step on me.”

“You know what, no,” Beth said, sitting up straight and shooting a mock glare down at Teia. “I _am_ offended. Nothing will appease me except copious amounts of chocolate.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Teia teased, tugging Beth back down. “But like, have you _seen_ her arms?”

“Augh,” Beth said, squirming and trying to escape, but Teia only wrapped her arms more firmly around her neck, pinning her down. “You jerk—”

Teia laughed mischievously and Neil looked away, feeling a little embarrassed and a little…something else. Not quite jealous, but.

He shoved the feeling down. Beth toppled Teia onto the floor and extricated herself, huffing righteously. Teia tried to get up, but Beth put a foot on her face. “How do you like getting stepped on now?”

“I can see up your skirt,” Teia replied, her grin just visible under Beth's heel.

“You’re despicable,” Beth said, folding her arms and dropping back onto the couch with a look of fond annoyance. “Nope, don’t you dare try to sit down. Fetch me cake and maybe you’ll be forgiven.”

Teia smirked and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with three plates of chocolate cake courtesy of Josephine. Beth propped her feet in Teia’s lap and grinned over at Neil. “So, are we all mandatory Fox fans now?” she asked. “Did he sign?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But they offered Nicky and Aaron contracts too.”

“What?” Teia demanded. “But that’s—I mean Aaron’s good but he’s not—"

She made a loud, frustrated noise and flopped backwards against the couch. “Can you imagine being so talented you drag everyone you know with you?”

“I think in order to be successful you actually need to go to practice,” Beth teased.

“Exy’s not worth sticking around and listening to Coach’s bullshit. I might just join the rec team next year instead.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Neil said. “Danielle didn’t like Coach Brent either.”

“That’s a lady with good taste. So why haven’t they signed yet?”

Neil and Beth made rapid eye contact. Beth had a very strict personal rule against gossip; Neil had never had want or cause to participate.

“There’s…a lot there,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated like how?”

“Teia,” Beth murmured.

“What are you—oh fine. You know, life would be a lot more fun if you weren’t always such a good person.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Yes, its so hard to be occasionally decent. So Neil, have you ever watched Star Wars?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan Wilds *flexes*
> 
> Every lesbian in a ten mile radius *swoons for no visible reason*
> 
> (thanks for reading!!!)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil and the Very Bad, No Good Day
> 
> (which somehow ended alright anyway)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should be working on my big bang right now but c'est la vie
> 
> i dont think any warnings apply to this chapter but as always let me know if you think i should add one

The morning rolled over without a verdict. The car ride to school was almost unbearable, tense and expectant like a wave cresting.

It never broke. They spilled out of the car into the school parking lot, Aaron’s gaze following Andrew but his voice still tied up inside him.

Andrew left him standing beside the car and Neil followed as he rounded the back of the gym to perch on the electrical box. They lit up and smoked in silence, watching the grey clouds lighten as the sun struggled to pierce them.

Neil lasted about five minutes before he could no longer resist.

“I read the contracts last night,” he said.

“I’m shocked,” Andrew deadpanned.

“It’s a good offer,” Neil persisted. “There’s even a clause that let’s you leave if you decide it won’t work out.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but I can in fact read.”

“So you read it through,” Neil said, pleased. “What’s stopping you? It’s a full ride, even if the Foxes are a lousy team. You could still go pro.”

“But consider this: perhaps I have no interest in wasting any more time on Exy.”

“I don’t believe that. You could have quit when you got out of juvie, but you didn’t. I _think_ that was because of Aaron, but you didn’t have to keep playing to keep an eye on him. You could’ve sat in the stands smoking during practice, but you chose to play.”

Andrew gave him a flat look. Neil frowned back. “You started playing for a reason. Why?”

Andrew took a long drag on his cigarette, the ember brightening to a pulse, and blew it out again. The smoke dissipated into the wind in heartbeats.

“It was a bigger cage than the alternative,” he said finally.

“This could be the key to getting out for good. You could get a degree, have a career. Or you could go pro. You could do anything.”

“That’s your dream.”

“Then borrow it until you get one of your own.” Neil shook his head, feeling restless and oddly jittery. He stubbed his cigarette out and stood. “I’m going to find Beth,” he said.

Andrew didn’t respond, but Neil felt his eyes on him all the way around the corner. He flicked the cigarette into the bin, debating whether he actually wanted to seek out company right now.

The hallways echoed hollowly as he meandered to his locker. Class schedules had switched around, so he now had Chemistry first thing. He was pretty sure there was a quiz today, which he had neglected studying for in favour of watching movies with Beth and Teia.

He stuffed his backpack in his locker and closed it, intent on finding a quiet corner to do some last-minute cramming.

The bright faces of Sam, Marco and Liz squashed that plan the second he turned around.

“Hey Neil!” Liz chirped. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, eyeing the trio. Sam shifted on his feet, eyes darting everywhere but Neil. “What do you want?”

Liz’s smile faltered at his bluntness and Sam shrank, visibly deflating. “I mean, we weren’t—we just wanted to say hi—”

“We know about you and Andrew,” Marco interrupted quietly.

“Really,” Neil said, staring unrelenting at Sam. “And how exactly do you know about that?”

“Look,” Liz said, trying to brush it off, “It’s not important—”

“I didn’t mean to tell them,” Sam burst out. “It was an accident!”

“Right,” Neil said. “Fantastic. Well, if that’s all you have to say, I’ll be going now.”

“I’m sorry!”

The friendly expression on Liz’s face slipped off like a cheap mask. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay!” she said vehemently.

Neil scowled. “I never said there was.”

“Then why did you deny it when Sam asked?”

“My private life,” Neil bit out, enunciating each word with brutal exactness, “Is _none of your business,_ understand?”

Marco stopped Liz with a hand on her arm. She shook him off, quietly fuming. “It’s not about being gay or straight,” Marco said. “It’s about Andrew.”

“I think it’s probably safe to say I know more about Andrew than you do,” Neil said coldly.

“You weren’t here last year,” Marco persisted. “There were…incidents. A girl got sent to hospital with cigarette burns on her hands, but she refused to say who did it.”

Neil sharpened his gaze to a knife edge. Marco quailed. “I mean, um. I’m sure however he explains it makes him sound like the good guy, but—”

“I am going to say this one more time, and then you’re going to walk away and stay the hell away from me. My private life is _none_ of your business.” He turned his gaze on Sam, stabbing his finger towards him. “And you better make sure Andrew doesn’t find out you talked. He’s got a thing about broken promises.”

Sam shrank as if trying to hide his long frame behind Liz’s much smaller one. The other two stared at him, wide-eyed and frightened, and he had the abrupt realization that they were children. Round faced and soft in a way he and Andrew had never been allowed to be.

Impotent rage boiled in his stomach. He shoved past them, leaving their shell-shocked faces in the dust.

He found an empty table crammed into the corner of a dim hallway and slammed his textbook down on it with a thud. A scowl twisted his face, his fingers curling into fists.

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to get any studying done _now._

\---

The day turned out bright and clear. It was too early in the year for a truly hot day, but the sun’s direct rays blazed down on Neil’s forehead where his hair was held back with a sweatband. The shade by the front door plunged him into a chilly shiver as he let himself in, the sweat on his back going cold.

The house smelled sour and stagnant. Upstairs was dark and silent, and no video game or mindless television show played in the living room. A light shone in the kitchen, though, so he detoured there for a glass of water before a much-needed shower.

Nicky sat at the counter with the stack of contracts in front of him, hands tangled in the mass of his curly hair. Neil fetched a glass and cut the tap on before he heard Nicky stir behind him.

“Neil.”

He tensed and turned immediately, the strangled sound of Nicky’s voice making his hand clutch tighter on the glass. Nicky held out a sheaf of papers in a shaking hand.

A small, careful signature sat on the bottom line of the page.

Neil lunged across the room to seize the contract. Water spilled over his hand and he dropped the glass heedlessly onto the counter. It tipped over, spilling down the side of the cupboards.

Neil didn’t notice.

“He signed,” Neil said, disbelieving, running his fingertips over the signature as if he could feel its binding power through the ink.

“They both did,” Nicky said. “Right after we got back from practice. Andrew took the car and left, I don’t know where. He said—he said I could stay, if I wanted, which from Andrew is like as good as an invitation, right? Oh God, Neil what do I do?”

Neil blinked at him. “What?”

“I talked to Erik and we agreed—we agreed it makes sense, financially, and I’ll never get a scholarship like this again in a million years, and it would mean I could keep the family together for five more years, and that would be great but it’s also so _long_ and it’s been so hard being away from Erik for two years, and Andrew and Aaron have already renewed their deal—”

Neil’s stomach bottomed out. “They what?”

Nicky jerked upwards, like he had forgotten who he was talking to. “Uh, I don’t know if—”

“I know about their deal,” Neil said. He dropped the contract on the dry portion of the counter, the bubbling elation in his chest frozen over.

“Good,” Nicky said, sounding relieved. “Great. Oh my God, Neil, they’re going to _college_.”

Neil watched Nicky continue to babble, hardly hearing him. The cold feeling settled down, solidifying in his gut into anger.

“Neil? Neil, where are you—”

The kitchen door banged against the wall as Neil strode into the hallway. He took the stairs three at a time and slammed his palm against Aaron’s door a couple times before barging through.

Aaron lay sprawled on his bed with his laptop propped on his stomach. The charging cord tangled around his legs as he fought his way upright.

“What the hell?” he demanded.

Neil folded his arms, scowling down at him. “Why did you do it?”

“I’ve got no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“The deal,” Neil snapped. “I know you’ve got no intention of keeping it, so I want to know why you agreed.”

“Get out of my room.”

Neil glared back, meeting Aaron’s fiery gaze with one of his own. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going through your head.”

“He was the one that offered, take it up with him.”

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

“I—” Something frightened and real flashed across Aaron’s face for an instant before it crystallized, sharpening. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Hatred spiked inside Neil, hotter than anger. It filled his chest with lava, pouring out with his words. “We both know you’ll break that promise the second it stops being convenient. Why couldn’t you just let him go?”

“Me?” Aaron said, scoffing. “Let _Andrew_ go? You’re fucking delusional.”

“Just because you’re too selfish and blind to see it doesn’t mean its not true.”

“Get out.”

“You—”

“GET OUT,” Aaron bellowed, lunging forward. Neil dodged into the hallway and the door slammed shut an inch from his face.

He dug his fingernails into his palms, rage choking him. His lungs ached like he was breathing smoke.  

At the bottom of the stairs Nicky stood frozen, eyes wide. Neil growled and turned away, stalking down the hallway. He locked himself in the bathroom and caught the edge of the sink. His reflection glared back, a dark-haired, hard-eyed vision of his father.

He shuddered, pressing his eyes closed. He was so stupid. He was getting entangled, invested. His mother had taught him better than that. Wesninski blood was like acid, leaving only destruction in its wake. He couldn’t fix the mess between Andrew and Aaron and he shouldn’t be trying.

The water in the shower seared his skin and he leaned into it, welcoming the pain. His breath came in sharp and hot, like he’d been running. He raked soapy fingernails through his hair, almost able to feel his mother’s ungentle grip. _Stupid_ , she hissed.

He climbed out of the shower and dumped his running clothes in the laundry bin. He could hear the TV chattering downstairs and stalled, hovering at the top of the stairs. It had only been a few weeks since a drunken Nicky had held him and called him family, but when it came down to it, Neil knew he’d side with his real one.

He swallowed and forced himself down the stairs. Nicky sat on the couch in front of the television, a bag of chips open in front of him.

Neil cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Nicky said, patting the couch beside him.

Neil edged in and sat just out of arm’s reach, but Nicky immediately moved over, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and tugging him in. He rested his chin on Neil’s head and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured.

Neil sat stiffly in his embrace, unable to return it. He considered apologizing, but he couldn’t form the words. He wasn’t sorry; he had thought of dozens of other things he wanted to snap at Aaron. Given the opportunity, he probably would.

At length Nicky released him and he kept his eyes on the TV as he said in a flat voice, “I understand if you don’t want me here anymore.”

“Don’t want you—God, Neil, don’t be so dramatic. You wouldn’t fit in here if you weren’t at least a little bit of an asshole. Aaron’s sulking in his room, though, which means the TV is ours until my shift. You could use some practice at Mario Kart.”

Neil jerked around to stare at him. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“I yelled at Aaron,” Neil said incredulously, “And you’re not even mad?”

Nicky rolled his eyes. “I’ve lived with those two for nearly two years now. Believe me, I’ve wanted to blow up at them a few times. They’re not exactly the easiest people to deal with.”

Disbelief must have been visible on Neil’s face, because a sideways smile quirked Nicky’s mouth. “Not everything’s a matter of life and death, Neil,” he said, more gently. “Now, you ready to get your ass kicked on the race course?”

Neil allowed him to press a controller into his hands and start up the game. He would never understand the devotion Aaron and Nicky had to their video games, but he was feeling off-balance enough to indulge Nicky for a couple hours. The shadows outside were stretching toward the horizon when the door finally creaked open, letting Andrew in with a gust of wind.

Nicky paused the game. “Perfect timing,” he said, waving the controller in greeting. “It’s almost time for me to head to Eden’s. I’d say you could take my place, but Neil just got killed for the millionth time.”

Andrew toed his shoes off and padded into the living room, sparing a glance for the screen where Neil had indeed just been obliterated by a chain chomp. He didn’t say anything, but he dropped the keys in Nicky’s lap on the way to his usual armchair.

“Thanks,” Nicky said. “So, um. I talked it over with Erik, and I think I’m going to take the scholarship. It’s a long time to be away from Germany but Erik says if I major in Marketing he’ll be able to get me a job at his firm afterwards, which would be pretty great.”

The look he shot Andrew was both anxious and hopeful. Andrew blinked at him slowly. “Okay.”

It was as enthusiastic a response as he was going to get, and Nicky knew it. A smile broke across his face, only a little relieved at the lack of objection. “Great! I’ll fill out the forms tomorrow and send them all in together, how’s that? And this means I don’t have to worry about selling the house or anything because we’ll just be an hour away and we can come back on the weekends. Aaron’s going to major in Biology or something equally gross and sticky so he can go into medicine. What do you think you’ll study?”

Andrew didn’t react to this torrent of words except to settle more deeply into his armchair. Nicky flapped his hand, unfolding himself from the couch. “Be stingy, then. I’ll get it out of you eventually. I’ve got to go change, there’s pizza in the freezer if you want it.”

Neil nodded because Andrew wasn’t going to and shut down the game while Nicky disappeared upstairs. He still wasn’t used to the controls, so it took him a couple minutes.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Andrew commented into the shuttered silence.

Neil wrapped the cords around the controllers and placed them on the side table, stalling. “I talked to Aaron.”

“About?”

“How he’s enabling your self-destructive behaviours.”

Andrew slanted him a bored look. “Your misguided attempts to protect me are both unhelpful and unnecessary.”

“He’s not suddenly going to change just because you’re in university not high school. If you’re stringing this along out of some fantasy that someday he’s going to turn around and apologize, you’re deluding yourself.”

Andrew’s eyes slipped away, already bored of the conversation. Neil scowled at the silence. “You don’t have to like it, but you know it’s true.”

“What would a liar like you know about the truth?”

Neil huffed a bitter laugh. “I’ve spent enough time avoiding the truth to know what it looks like when someone is doing the same.”

“Don’t compare us. We are nothing alike.”

“Then tell me, who are you really trying to punish here? Him, or you?”

“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

Neil’s jaw clenched, all of the anger he’d drowned earlier clawing its way back to life. Andrew dug the remote out of the couch and turned on the TV, sifting through the channels until he found some sort of crime drama.

Fury seethed in Neil’s stomach like vipers, coiling and uncoiling until he felt like he might be sick. He bit down on the poisonous words he wanted to spit; that Aaron was faithless, that he was dishonest, that he didn’t deserve Andrew’s loyalty.

The light of the TV flickered over Andrew’s face, the shifting colours blurred and unearthly. The sudden rage blew out of him as suddenly as it had lit, leaving him exhausted. Nicky pattered down the stairs and into the kitchen, his pants plasticky and black and his shirt bedecked with sequins.

Neil let his gaze drift to the TV, not really absorbing the scene. “What do you think you’ll study?” he asked.

Andrew huffed in a put-upon sort of way. “Criminal law.”

Despite his black mood, a short bark of laughter escaped him.

Nicky’s face appeared in the doorway almost immediately. “Who just laughed? No, what the hell. I know everyone in this house, and none of you have a sense of humour. What happened, and do I need to call an ambulance?”

Neil tipped his head back against the couch so he could see Nicky’s face and jerked his thumb towards Andrew. “Criminal law,” he said by way of explanation.

Nicky’s brows furrowed for a moment before understand struck him. “What, actually?” he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh my God. You little shit.”

He was still laughing when the front door closed behind him. The rumble of the car’s engine was audible through the walls.

Neil shook his head and leaned against the side of the couch, his chest lighter than it had been all day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how obvious is it that ive never owned a video game in my life lmao
> 
> Okay! so some of you may have noticed this fic now has a chapter count. this isnt because we're in any way nearing the end, but i realized that the story breaks quite nicely into three parts and once the idea of making it a trilogy got into my head it kinda stuck. crossed fingers that parts 2 and 3 wont get _quite_ this long, but knowing me they probably will be. sigh. 
> 
> as always, love you all, and look out for my big bang which will go up on thursday!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason when i started this fic i was wholly convinced that andrews birthday was november 30th and neils was march 23. so. ya know. thats a thing
> 
> this chapter is 30% fluff 70% smut, consider yourself warned

Neil startled, his gaze ripping away from the court as Beth flopped onto the stands next to him.

“You’re making me look like a shitty girlfriend, you know,” she said, leaning back against the bench behind them. “I mean, sure, I go to most of Teia’s games, but I’m not sticking around to watch her practice, too.”

“I like watching Exy.”

“All of my friends are hopeless jocks,” she lamented. “But today I am here, which at least makes me look like I'm interested. Even if I have an ulterior motive.”

Neil shifted, suddenly apprehensive. Beth grinned. “You thought you could keep a secret from me, didn’t you?”

The problem with having many secrets, Neil found, was that it was sometimes hard to know which one people were referring to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” she said affably, and rifled through her pack until she pulled out a lumpish parcel wrapped in shiny _It’s Your Birthday!_ wrapping paper. She dropped it in his lap with a smug look. 

Neil stared down at the gift. “I took my name off the bulletin board,” he noted.

“You underestimate my powers,” Beth replied cheerfully. “Open it.”

Neil gave her a flat look, but he bowed his head and ran his fingers along the paper seam lines until he found the tape. He tore it free, peeling back the wrapping paper.

A large container full of bright orange cupcakes sat on top, each one decorated with a tiny, intricate fox. Neil rolled his eyes and set it aside, unfolding the stiff fabric beneath it. A bag opened up under his hands, brand new and un-scuffed.

“A duffel?” he asked, confused.

“The backpack doesn’t suit your horrible fashionless-jock aesthetic and we both know it.”

“My backpack is fine,” Neil said. “I don’t need this.”

“Too bad. I already threw away the tags, so it’s yours. No take-backs.”

Neil’s fingers twisted into the fabric of the bag, his knuckles going white. “You don’t have to keep buying me things.”

“I don’t _have_ to. I want to.”

“I—”

“Excuse me, what the hell is that?” Nicky demanded, mounting the stairs with two paper coffee cups in his hands.

“Neil’s birthday present,” Beth said, and Neil shot her a betrayed look. She grinned.

“Your _what?_ Neil, it’s your birthday?”

Neil nodded sullenly.

“And you didn’t tell me? How could you! You know I love parties!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Neil muttered.

“I don’t even have a cake! This is a total disaster!”

Beth patted Neil’s head, coming to her feet. “Anyway, mom’s waiting for me. Happy birthday, Grumpy.”

She waved over her shoulder, leaving his protests to die in the open air. Nicky waved the coffees in the air, still ranting about ice cream and candles and presents.

Neil rescued one of the coffees from Nicky’s wildly gesticulating hands and took a sip. He made a face at its sweetness; Nicky was determined to introduce him to the ‘finer things in life’ and flavoured lattes were apparently part of that.

“Are you even listening to me?” Nicky asked, offended.

“No,” Neil said, honestly.

“You’re horrible,” Nicky announced, flopping beside him on the bench and folding his arms. With his soft face, it gave the impression of a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Fortunately, because I am a glowing beacon of joy, I already have something for you.”

“What?” Neil asked, tense all over again. “But I didn’t—”

Nicky waved his hand. “I would’ve found an excuse to give it to you anyway. This is just exceptional timing! And if I call Sweetie’s now, they can have an ice cream cake ready by the time practice is out—”

Neil sagged and he pushed the container of cupcakes towards Nicky. “Beth already dealt with that.”

“Oh my God, they’re so cute! Seriously, and I never say this about straight people, but you should marry that girl. She’s adorable.”

“She has a girlfriend,” Neil said vaguely, watching Andrew swat a ball away from the goal with lazy ease.

“Really?” Nicky asked. “Aww, that’s so great. I mean, terrible luck for you, obviously, but good for her.”

He lapsed into silence. Neil shot a quick glance at him, nervous at the sudden change. Nicky’s expression was quiet, a half-smile on his lips.

When he caught Neil looking, he pulled a full smile on, softer now. “Sometimes it just seems surreal how different things can be, you know? I’ve lived in Columbia my whole life, and when I was your age I thought no one would ever accept me being gay. But your friend likes girls and it’s not even, like, a big deal to you. It’s just…nice, I guess. That some kids get a better experience.”

Neil studied his face, trying to decode the complicated emotions there. He didn’t seem bitter or jealous, just a little sad. As if mourning a childhood he never got to have.

He nodded slowly and turned back to the court. After a few minutes Nicky returned to himself, chattering away brightly and making inroads into the cupcakes. The practice below them wrapped up and Neil slipped out of the stands despite Nicky’s protests.

“It’s my birthday,” he said, over his shoulder. “That means you have to let me do what I want.”

“Don’t you dare use my rules against me!” Nicky called after him.

Neil picked up his striker’s racquet and let himself onto the court where Andrew waited, ignoring Nicky.

\---

If it had been up to Neil, they would have stayed at the court long enough that Nicky would have headed to Eden’s for his shift. It was, unfortunately, not up to Neil.

Nicky caught Neil before he’d even made it through the door. Neil fended him off with one hand as he tried to drop his new duffel and backpack in the entryway.

Andrew shoved past them impatiently as Nicky managed to snap something elastic under Neil’s chin. He got untangled from his bags and dodged away, slipping the cone-shaped hat off of his head.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a party hat!”

“It says ‘three years old’.”

“I didn’t have time to shop around, okay? You didn’t exactly give me time to plan.”

He gave Neil a disapproving look, which he deflected with a glower. He dropped the hat onto the floor and ducked past Nicky to the kitchen. A pot of pasta sat on the stove and Neil’s cupcakes were arrayed across the counter invitingly.

Aaron stopped mid-bite, glaring at Neil over the orange confection. Neil raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Aaron’s expression twisted into a scowl and he shoved off the counter, disappearing upstairs.

Neil shook his head and served himself a plate of chicken alfredo, settling at the counter. Nicky burst through the doorway a second later, looking exceptionally pleased with himself and carrying a bright pink gift bag.

Neil sighed, lowering his fork. “Can’t it wait till I’ve eaten?”

“Nope. I’ve gotta leave for work in ten minutes, so you can suck it up and celebrate with me because the other two sure won’t.”

Neil wished Nicky shared the twins’ indifference to his birthday. He dropped his plate in resignation and waited.

Nicky was unperturbed. He pushed the bag into Neil’s hands with a grin, settling back to watch. Neil glared at him long enough to remind him that he was not a willing participant, and finally huffed, opening the bag and pulling the fluffy tissue paper out.

A heavy bottle lay on top. Neil drew it out, reading the label aloud. “Grey Goose vodka.”

Nicky’s grin brightened to blinding. Neil set the bottle aside and pulled out the item at the bottom of the bag. It unfolded in his hand, sleek and smooth and bright orange.

“It’s my jersey!” Nicky burst out, unable to contain his excitement any longer. He threw an arm around Neil’s shoulders and grabbed the shirt, shaking it out. The number eight was emblazoned in bright orange beneath HEMMICK.

“You’re going to be my first fan!” Nicky enthused, spinning Neil around and forcing the shirt over his head. Neil struggled perfunctorily, but Nicky managed to pull it down over his t-shirt. “Aaron and Andrew will have people cheering for them just because they’re good, but I need someone rooting for me too!”

He clutched Neil into a hug, squeezing the air out of his chest. “And you can come to all of our games, I’m sure I can get you tickets. And there’s these big banquet parties for all the districts, and you can come as my date because we know Andrew’s never going to ask you. And we’re only going to be an hour away so we can come back and visit you on the weekends! Isn’t that great?”

Neil pushed feebly against Nicky’s ensnaring arms and he released him with a laugh, holding him at arm’s length and surveying the jersey with approval.

“I told you everything would work out,” he said. “You’re our good luck charm.”

Neil’s chest contracted painfully. He couldn’t tell Nicky that the future he was describing was impossible. That Neil would be long gone before their season began.

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Nicky’s brilliant grin dimmed. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t you do that. Today’s a happy day. We can deal with your issues another day.”

Neil swallowed and looked away, tangling his fingers into the hem of the jersey. “Thanks,” he said, voice hoarse.

Nicky didn’t look convinced, but he towed Neil over to the counter nonetheless, plopping him down on one of the bar stools. He pulled out a couple shot glasses and cracked open the vodka.

“I don’t drink,” Neil said as Nicky poured the shots.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a special occasion! Let loose a little.”

The vodka shimmered as Nicky poured it with expert precision, not spilling a drop. He pushed the shot glass towards Neil and lifted his own with a goading expression.

Neil folded his arms on the counter. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh, come on! Let me enjoy this.”

“Nicky—”

“He said no,” Andrew said, startling them both. Nicky spilled some of his shot on his sleeve and swore.

“Seriously, Andrew? Now I’ve got to change. And it’s his _birthday._ ”

Andrew slid his uninterested gaze past him and stole the shot from in front of Neil, downing it in one go.

“You two are insufferable,” Nicky complained, pouring himself a new shot. “But I’m out of time. We will continue this conversation later.”

“What conversation?” Neil muttered.

“The one where you’re a heartless killjoy,” Nicky said, tossing back his shot and heading down the hallway. “Aaron! We’re going in five!”

Neil reclaimed his plate and dug in. Andrew tapped his finger on the shot glass for a moment before serving himself some pasta and settling down at the counter beside Neil.

“That jersey is hideous,” he said blandly.

Neil choked on a smirk. “You’re going to be wearing one a lot soon,” he said. “Better get used to it now.”

Andrew twitched, like a horse irritated by a fly. Neil felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, but he kept his head forward and focussed on his pasta.

When he finished he dumped the plate in the sink and trudged up the stairs to use the shower. Aaron passed him, heading for the front door. The look on his face when he saw Neil’s jersey almost made it worth it.

The bathroom door swung shut behind him and he flipped the lock closed, leaning close to the mirror to check his roots. A faint coppery glimmer greeted him from the base of his hairline.

He grimaced at the mirror and dug a box of dye out of his backpack. The brush and hair clips rattled in the bottom of the box and he spread the supplies out on the counter in preparation.

After a moments deliberation he stripped off the jersey and underlying t-shirt; he didn’t want to risk staining one of his few shirts. He’d put on some weight since moving into the cousins’ house so he no longer looked quite so scrawny and malnourished, but his scars stood out stark and red across his bare chest. He averted his gaze and set about mixing his dye into a small bowl.

A knock at the door startled him so hard he nearly dropped it. He fumbled and set the bowl down on the counter. “What?”

“Aaron and Nicky are gone,” Andrew said through the door.

Neil frowned and unlocked the door, opening it just a crack so he could see Andrew’s face. “And?”

Andrew sighed as if Neil was being purposefully dense and pushed on the door. Neil backed up, letting him into the small bathroom. His eyes swept past Neil’s supplies spread out on the sink and settled on Neil, sliding down his chest.

Neil’s stomach squeezed. _Oh,_ he thought, as Andrew stepped closer, opening his mouth to speak.

“Yes,” Neil said, before he could ask.

“Eager,” Andrew muttered, crowding him up against the wall.

“Only for you.”

Andrew put his hand over Neil’s mouth. “Don’t say stupid things.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond before Andrew swooped in, his breath wafting over Neil’s skin before his mouth closed over it. Neil’s eyes slipped closed, the air rushing out of him. There had been little time in the last few weeks for this, with all the preparations for university suddenly underway. He hadn’t thought much of it, too caught up in the thrill of Andrew’s scholarship.

Andrew’s teeth raked over his collarbone, his free hand curving around Neil’s ribcage. Neil hissed as Andrew bit down. Fingernails dug into his side and breath washed over his wet skin. The vague thought crossed his mind that perhaps he’d been wrong to assume Andrew had been as unconcerned about the lack of kisses as he’d been.

The quickening pace of Andrew’s breathing seemed to agree. Neil pressed his palms flat against the wall, tipping his head back to give Andrew better access. His lips nipped and suckled at the side of his neck, sending sparks down to Neil’s fingertips.

Andrew slowed down, withdrawing a hairsbreadth. Neil nudged his hand with his nose, pressing a small kiss into the palm.

He snatched his hand back, jostling Neil’s bare torso. Goosebumps rushed over his skin at the withdrawal and he shivered in the cool air of the bathroom.

Andrew glared at him for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision. “Come,” he said, turning on his heel and exiting the room. Neil blinked, disoriented. He cast one last glance at his hair dye supplies and abandoned them, following Andrew out into the hallway.

His bedroom door hung open, Andrew already vanished inside. Neil paused in the doorway. He’d never been inside Andrew’s room before; it was messier than he’d expected, clothes and shoes strewn around in apathetic heaps. Several coffee mugs languished on top of a dresser that was stuffed to bursting, socks and underwear hanging out of the top drawer.

“Are you coming in or not?” Andrew asked.

Neil surveyed him from the doorway, his back itching from exposure to the empty hallway. “Do you want me to?”

A twitch pulled at Andrew’s face. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him. The click of the door felt oddly intimate, his cheeks warming as Andrew stepped in and slid his hands over his hips.

Neil buried his fingers in Andrew’s hair, tugging him in for a proper kiss. His mouth opened with a sigh, the faint aftertaste of pasta sauce on his tongue. One of Andrew’s hands slipped down into his back pocket, squeezing lightly.

A shudder went through him. It was all he could do not to jerk his hips forward into Andrew’s as his fingers kneaded gently into his ass.

Andrew tugged him backwards towards the bed, stumbling over a discarded sweater. Neil chased him, catching his lips every time they broke apart, the blood rushing in his ears. Warmth flushed through every part of his body, breathless and electrified.

Andrew swung around just before they hit the bed. The back of Neil’s knees hit the mattress and he lost his balance, flumping down onto the blanket. Andrew propped one knee on the mattress and tipped Neil’s head upward to kiss him, sliding his tongue along the roof of Neil’s mouth and inhaling him.

Sweat stuck Andrew’s hands to his skin. Neil twisted his fingers into Andrew’s hair, knowing he was pulling too hard and unable to stop. His jeans felt tight and constrictive already.

Andrew withdrew, his chest heaving but his expression still contained, controlled. Neil swallowed and forcibly loosened his grip on Andrew’s hair. For a minute they just looked, eyes blown wide with desire.

Neil watched with fascination as Andrew licked his lips, eyes fastened on Neil’s mouth. He leaned in, catching Andrew’s lips in a slow, burning kiss. His skin felt overcharged, like the muggy heat that preceded a thunderstorm.

“Neil,” Andrew muttered, a puff of air against his lips.

Neil hummed in response, then blinked, releasing Andrew’s hair as he stepped away. Andrew watched him for a moment longer before turning to his bedside table and very deliberately stripping off his armbands.

The air knocked out of Neil’s chest.

 “Hey,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the exposed scars and meeting Andrew’s gaze. “You—”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, planting a hand on Neil’s chest and shoving. Neil went willingly, scooting backwards onto the bed and lying back. Andrew followed, climbing over him and caging his head between his bare arms, biting down on his lip. Heat squirmed in Neil’s chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed, as Andrew made his way down his chest, lips wet and soft on Neil’s scars. His lungs constricted, stretching each breath into something high and desperate.

Andrew nipped his skin in retaliation for a particularly loud gasp. A laugh punched its way out of Neil’s lungs, his head flopping loosely against the soft blanket. Fingernails dug into his waist, a shuddering breath betraying Andrew.

He kissed his way down Neil’s chest, dipping his tongue into his bellybutton and swirling it in a way that made Neil’s stomach clench. He lifted his hips to help Andrew tug his jeans down to his knees. He peeled them off each ankle, tossing them to the floor.

Neil shivered as Andrew’s hands moved up his bare calves, nerves jangling in time with his heartbeat. Andrew ducked his head and pressed a small kiss to the inside of his knee.

A shudder went through his entire body. Andrew paused, meeting Neil’s gaze, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss higher, into the soft skin of his inner thigh.

He bit down against a keen that tried to rip through his lungs. Andrew studied him, eyes calculating as he moved half an inch higher, his hand slipping under Neil’s thigh to hold him in place while he laved his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sheets clung to Neil’s sweaty back, moisture gathering in the creases of his body.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the blistering eye contact. The sensation of Andrew’s lips on his leg didn’t dim; if anything, without sight to distract him, it was like he could feel every brush of Andrew’s tongue, inching upwards towards his underwear.

“Neil,” Andrew said, and Neil whimpered, forcing his eyes open. Andrew tugged against the hem of his boxers in clear question.

“Yes,” Neil said, heart jackhammering in his chest. This was new, almost frightening. The nakedness, the bedroom, the wet implication of Andrew’s mouth between his legs.

With Andrew here, though, he couldn’t find it in him to be afraid. 

Andrew pulled his boxers down and tossed them off the side of the bed, settling himself between Neil’s knees. His hand hooked under Neil’s thigh, thumb rubbing rhythmic circles into the cords of his muscles.

Neil struggled to breath. Andrew’s thumb stroked his skin, suspending the moment. His eyes darted up to Neil’s, a sheen of sweat glowing on his face.

“I’ve never done this before,” Andrew admitted, voice low.

Neil blinked, staring at Andrew with his lips parted. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

He swallowed, trying to quiet his body long enough to process that. They’d never done anything but hands before, but somehow he’d never thought… he forgot, sometimes, that Andrew was barely a year older, that his composure didn’t necessarily mean experience.

He propped himself up on his elbow, tangling his fingers into Andrew’s hair to draw him up for a kiss. Andrew lips were faintly salty and Neil wondered whose sweat he was tasting, nudging his head forward to entice Andrew’s mouth to open a little.

The fire of arousal, only just banked, relit in seconds. Neil fixed his fingers in Andrew’s hair, letting out a shaky breath against his mouth.

“It’s yes for me,” he murmured. “But only if you want to.”

Andrew’s teeth scraped his bottom lip and then he eased back. Neil watched, barely able to breath as Andrew wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, firm and warm. His palm stuck against Neil’s sweaty skin, slipping unsteadily for a moment before he found a rhythm.

Neil’s breathing intensified as Andrew leaned lower. He’d fantasized about this, a little, but it still felt unreal, the tiny gap between Andrew’s lips almost lascivious.

Something warm and wet brushed his tip and his stomach jumped, a jagged breath tearing out of him. Andrew withdrew an inch, his tongue flitting out to lick his lips. An intent furrow creased his brow, like he was confronted with a puzzle he wasn’t quite sure how to solve.

He ducked his head again and Neil forgot all thought of metaphor as Andrew’s mouth slid down his length, hot and sure. His tongue pushed and pulled at the underside of his cock and Neil’s arm collapsed, unable to hold up his weight. He tangled his fingers into his own hair, gasping out little breaths as Andrew moved, slow and testing, surrounding him, drowning him, setting him on fire.

Andrew pulled off with a soft, wet sound that Neil felt straight through his core. He covered his eyes, shuddering uncontrollably. Andrew smoothed his hand over his aching cock, spreading saliva across his full length.

A hand tugged at his elbow and Neil dropped his arms, blinking down at Andrew with glazed eyes. Whatever Andrew saw there must have met his approval, because he dropped a kiss onto Neil’s stomach before taking him into his mouth again, sinking even deeper.

Neil didn’t bother to restrain the sounds tearing through his lungs. Andrew’s hand moved in concert with his mouth, sliding up and down relentlessly with the _push-pull_ of his tongue. Teeth nicked his skin once or twice, making him gasp and twitch, but Andrew’s lips were always there a moment later, soothing over the sensitive skin. Neil's hand pawed at Andrew’s hair; to do what, he didn’t know.

Andrew knocked him aside with his free hand and Neil knotted his fingers in the blanket instead, lost in the wet heat of Andrew’s mouth. He pulled back, almost all the way off, pumping Neil’s length and sucking hard at his tip.

“Andrew,” he gasped, but he didn’t know how to end that thought. He groaned instead, taking full advantage of the empty house.

A tightening of Andrew’s hand was the only sign he heard, but it drew another groan from him, and another. Neil dug his heels in, scrabbling against the blankets as heat swelled in his navel.

Neil’s body snapped. He cried out as pleasure crashed through his body like white lightning, burning away all thought. A short, choked sound washed over the fringes of his awareness as Andrew vanished, his hand and mouth abruptly removed.

Neil slumped loosely onto the mattress, his muscles soft as Jell-O. The duvet clung unpleasantly to his sweaty back, but he just stared dazedly at the ceiling, his vision blurry.

A soft cough brought him back. He blinked, dragging himself upwards so he could peek down at Andrew. He was farther away than Neil expected, perched on the end of the bed. His face was red and glossy, wet spots marring his cheeks.

“Andrew?” he asked.

Andrew shot him a glare and wiped at his face ineffectually. His lips were spit-shiny and dark, sending a shiver down Neil’s spine.

He wanted to curl up on the mattress and sleep for a few hours, but the sweat on his skin was already cooling, tacky and uncomfortable. Andrew coughed again, a tiny sound, like he was trying not to make any noise.

Neil swung his legs off the bed, finding his boxers a few feet away. He tugged them on and snagged a couple tissues from the bedside table before going to sit beside Andrew.

He held the tissue up in offering. “Yes or no?”

Andrew stared at him for a long, cold moment, before giving him the barest of nods. Neil took that for the caution it was and kept his touches to a minimum as he wiped spots of cum off of Andrew’s face.

Andrew closed his eyes to let Neil work. God, there was even some in his eyelashes. Andrew’s nostrils flared heavily and Neil bit the inside of his cheek, his body tingling with the memory of exactly _why_ Andrew was out of breath.

He dropped the tissues on the floor and waited till Andrew blinked his eyes open to lean in, slow enough that Andrew could pull away if he wanted. He rested his forehead against Andrew’s, breathing in tandem.

“I should have warned you I was close,” he murmured.

Andrew nodded tiredly, nose bumping against Neil’s. Neil hummed in response, brushing their lips together. A pungent musk clung to Andrew’s mouth but Neil ignored it, lost in the shivery afterglow.

“That was amazing,” he breathed. “You’re amazing.”

Andrew’s lips curled derisively, but he didn’t pull away, which Neil counted as a win. “It’s called a blowjob. Use your words.”

Neil nipped Andrew’s lip, a sharp grin pulling at his mouth. “I thought you wanted me to stop talking so much.”

Andrew scoffed, shoving Neil back a couple inches. Neil stifled his smile, waving a vague hand at the front of Andrew’s pants. “Do you want me to…?”

He half expected more mockery, but Andrew went still, eyes unfathomable. A sudden twist of nerves and excitement leapt in Neil’s stomach. The air between them tightened like a plucked chord, bright and full of potential.

“No,” Andrew said finally, breaking eye contact. Neil accepted that easily, leaning in to claim another kiss. Andrew had considered it; that was more than he ever had before. Neil pocketed that fact, drawing Andrew’s mouth open and trying to wash away the taste with his tongue.

Andrew pushed his hip until Neil got the picture, shuffling backwards and pulling Andrew with him. They landed in a tangle, Andrew’s clothes rubbing Neil’s overcharged skin raw. One of Andrew’s hands disappeared, his breath quickening as he rubbed at the front of his pants to get himself going again.

Neil hummed his approval, cupping Andrew’s jaw in both hands. More praise clung to his lips, but he kept it inside, enjoying the ragged bite of Andrew’s teeth as he tried to hide how hard he was rocking into his hand already.

He growled, sitting up abruptly. His hand reached behind his head, yanking his shirt off in one smooth moment.

Neil stared, dumbfounded. Andrew’s chest glistened with sweat, thick and muscular as a tree trunk.

“Fuck,” he said.

Andrew dropped down, propping his elbow beside Neil’s head. The mattress sank, making Neil’s head dip and lean against Andrew’s arm.

“You can touch me,” he muttered.

Neil licked his lips. Andrew’s eyes glowed fiercely, the pupils wide and deep.

He shivered when Neil brushed his fingers against his waist. Neil flattened his palms and slid them up Andrew’s sides, taking his time. Andrew’s skin was soft and damp under his hands, a layer of fat over thick, bone-deep muscle.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

“Don’t say stupid things,” Andrew said, and kissed Neil before he could argue, pushing his head deep into the mattress. Neil let his hands travel across the planes of Andrew’s chest, flicking his nipple with his thumb and revelling in the little shudder he got in response.

There was a faint zipping sound and then Andrew began to move, a subtle rock in his body weight. Neil slid a hand up behind Andrew’s neck and tipped Andrew’s chin so he could pepper kisses onto his throat, his free hand tracing shapes along Andrew’s ribcage.

It didn’t take long. Andrew grunted and went still, a deep groan rumbling against Neil’s lips.

Neil nuzzled his face against Andrew’s throat, smirking. “That was quick.”

“Shut up.” Andrew’s voice was pleasantly breathless.

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“You liked it anyway.”

“Ugh,” Andrew said, rolling away and grabbing a couple tissues off the side table to clean his hand. Neil leaned onto one arm to watch him, admiring the shivery muscles of his arms, the soft curl of hair on his chest.

Andrew chucked the dirty tissue at him. He batted it away, lazy and sated as he rested his head on his forearm.

“Go shower,” Andrew said, eyes sliding along his bare form. “You’re filthy.”

Neil hummed in token protest, but he recognized the dismissal. He gathered his clothes up and left Andrew there, legs still tingling.

His hair dye had already partially dried up, a filmy crust forming along the top. He made a face and scooped it into the garbage bin. It wouldn’t take with his hair all sweaty, anyway.

After his shower he pulled Nicky’s jersey back on. The flat look Andrew gave him when he saw it was _definitely_ worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the worst part about making this a trilogy is i now have to name the series and the sequels, why did i do this to myself
> 
> (thanks for reading! and thanks for all your encouraging words, we're in it for the long haul but we're in it together <3)


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